Contractual Invalidation
by R-dude
Summary: In which pureblood tradition doesn't always favor the purebloods.
1. How to Break Your Contract: 5 Easy Steps

**Note:** This story had been the victim of a well known plagiarist who, besides me, likes to target DLP authors and copy dozens of stories on several accounts. It has recently been taken down, but the guy is nothing if not tenacious. This is the original, and I am the original author. If you encounter this story anywhere else, please notify me and make sure to report such to the administrators.

The girl in the picture is Victoria Coleman.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

 **How to Break Your Contract in Five Easy Steps**

 **~TMC~**

* * *

The Auror office was a peculiar place. It was the main sub-section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it took up most of Level Two of the Ministry of Magic building, and had the most renown among the public. However, the actual way the Office functioned was not widely known.

For one, most of the people working in the Office weren't Aurors. Aurors themselves were mostly field agents who spent their time investigating, hunting dark wizards, and guarding places and people. The only time they visited the Office was to brief, debrief, deliver suspects or write up their mission reports. Most of the day-to-day workers were paper-pushers, taking care of the massive amounts of red tape necessary for the Office's function. The most permanent Auror presence in the Office, excluding the ones coming in and out, were the few guards stationed there and the Head Auror.

The Head Auror's office was on the edge of the Auror Office part of the floor, close to the Director of Magical Law Enforcement's own. His duties were many and varied, being second in power and responsibility only to the Director himself. Unlike a normal Auror's field-oriented workload and despite the fact that the most decorated Auror was usually the one picked for promotion, the Head Auror's duties were mostly organizational.

Aurors worked individually in most cases. There were no ranks to being an Auror, they all had equal power and responsibilities. One was an Auror, or one wasn't, though there was respect and deference given to the more senior and experienced members among them. The one in charge of this force, the one who directed them, who sent them on their assignments and gave them their orders was the Head Auror, answering directly to the Director of the Department.

When Harry Potter accepted the job of Head Auror, he thought he'd been prepared. He never planned to stay a simple Auror forever, of course. Head Auror was the next step. Many of his friends had briefly joined the corps before leaving to pursue other professional careers. Ron was expanding his and George's business, and Neville was teaching little tykes Herbology at Hogwarts.

But not Harry. Harry had a plan. Harry was going to change things.

But he hadn't been prepared for a desk job. The Head Auror rarely headed out into the field: only for very delicate or important assignments where his presence and judgement were necessary. It took him a good while to get used to all the paperwork he had to deal with, to mold his thought process from investigator and hunter to that of a strategic leader with finite resources. Still, it wasn't all bad. He liked his job, he was good at it, and the Auror Office flourished under his guidance.

None of those made him feel any better at that moment. Listening to someone drone on and on about unnecessary stuff was never his strong suit.

What was the man's name? McCain? McCorn?

"Mister McCain," Harry interrupted the man, noting that he must have gotten the name right judging by the lack of correction. "I understand your plight." He didn't. "But as I said, the matter is not in our hands. Handling of dangerous magical beasts falls under the jurisdiction of Regulation and Control. You'll have to talk to them."

"But surely-"

"Talk to madam Weasley. She will be more than happy to help you with your manticore. Her people are very capable."

"You don't understand, sir-"

"I understand that you're missing your manticore," Harry cut him off, having heard enough of this story. "And you believe he was kidnapped. Unfortunately, there is no evidence of illegal action. it is much more likely that he ran away, as manticores are not suited to domestication. I cannot in good conscience assign Aurors to finding him unless Regulation and Control deem that their presence is necessary. Are we clear?"

Perhaps it was his tone of finality. Perhaps it was his set jaw underneath the wooden smile, but the elderly man seemed to finally give up.

"Yes, mister Potter. Thank you for your time."

"Good evening, sir." He got up and walked the man to the door of his office, closing it behind him.

Now alone, Harry Potter, Head Auror, returned to his desk, all but falling into his chair. He melted into its contours with a weary sigh, pushing his hair back with his hand. He rather liked his chair. He'd custom-ordered it no more than four weeks after ascending to the station and had not regretted his choice.

He had a small break before the meeting with the small Auror squad returning from Ireland. No more than fifteen minutes, but Harry allowed his eyes to droop beneath his glasses.

"Um, Head Auror, sir?"

Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. One of the interns, in charge of secretarial duties, was poking his head through his door.

"What is it, Radley?"

"Um, something arrived for you in the mail."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Put it in the pile with the others. I'll read it later."

"Sir, it's from Gringotts. It's marked as urgent."

Harry let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. "Fine. Send it in."

"Right away, sir."

"Could you have some tea brought in, please?"

"Of course."

The young man closed the door, leaving alone again. Three minutes later, a small tray phased through his office door, floating to his desk and setting itself on some free space. In it was a small pot of tea and a thick envelope with the Gringotts crest on it.

Harry prepared his tea and took a sip, before opening the envelope with one hand. He unfolded the letter inside, murmuring to himself. "Mister Potter, son of so and so, owner of this and that, we hope to … blah blah blah, your presence required etcetera etcetera." He took another sip as he skimmed. "… pending contract? Timed-out deadline?"

Harry frowned. To his knowledge, he had no open contracts with Gringotts or anyone associated with them. "...your presence in our bank no later than tomorrow evening to discuss the terms of fulfilment," Harry concluded, before putting the letter down.

He couldn't think of anything this could pertain to. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry put the letter on a pile of correspondence. He'd deal with it later.

He was done from work around seven. As Head Auror, it was always a possibility that he'd be called in in case something happened that needed his input or guidance, but other than he had a normal schedule that he followed every day.

He said goodbye to the staff that would stay in the office and headed down, taking the elevator to the bottom level before heading to the Atrium. It took much longer than it should have in theory because, as always, he stopped many times to greet, shake hands or exchange a few words with various people, civilian and ministry workers alike. Some friends, some strangers.

He Apparated directly to Diagon Alley, appearing in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He went inside, nodding to the cashier, who allowed him entrance to the staff only area. There he found Ron, hunched over some book and biting his pen.

"Hey mate," Harry greeted. Ron looked up, giving him a grin when he spotted him.

"Hey Harry."

"Drinking on the job?" Harry nodded towards a half-empty bottle of butterbeer as he sat on a chair.

"Just staving off the headache."

"Wish I could do that in the Auror office."

Ron snorted, turning his gaze back to his bookkeeping. "Good reason I left the department, mate."

"I thought it was because of your dream of being an accountant?"

They caught up for a bit, Ron finally giving up on what he was trying to do and passing him a butterbeer. Eventually, Harry got up.

"It's getting late," he said. "I'd better go. I need to get to Gringotts before they close."

Ron nodded absently. "Sure mate. We still on for tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'll bring the dessert."

"You know you don't have to. Hermione will nag at you about it."

"Let her. Alright, I'm off."

He left the shop, heading out into the now dark Alley. He ascended the steps of Gringotts, entered the bank and headed to a teller.

"Greetings."

"Hello," he greeted, passing over the letter from one of his pockets. "I received this today."

The goblin examined it with his monocle for a minute, nodding to himself. "Go through those doors, third door to the left."

"Thanks."

Harry accepted the letter back and followed the goblin's instructions, going through the hallway to lesser frequented parts of the bank, the offices. The door had a heading with the title 'Boltnail, Executive Contractor'.

Inside was a large office with a single goblin sitting behind a desk and a mound of books.

"Ah, mister Potter. I was expecting you."

"Good evening, Boltnail. I assume the letter was from you?"

"One of my underlings, but yes. We have business to discuss. Take a seat."

Harry sat, accepting the cup of water that appeared on the desk in front of him with a nod.

"I was unaware I was under any sort of contract. Perhaps there's been a mistake?"

"There was no mistake, mister Potter. You've been under a contract since a few weeks after your conception."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I see that you were not aware. I have a copy of the signed contract here. Perhaps you should read it before we proceed."

The goblin presented several stacked pages of parchment to Harry. He resisted the urge to groan as he began to riffle through them. The names on the first page caused him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"My parents wrote this."

It wasn't a question, and the goblin said nothing, allowing Harry to continue reading in ever increasing speed. He skimmed the lingo, the superfluous words all contracts seemed to share, and many sub-sections that he simply could not understand, and zeroed in on the important bits.

"It is agreed by both parties … properties to be passed to … on the event of … upon eighteenth birthday … legally wed within no less than two years … signed James and Lily Potter, Fabio and Karina Greengrass?"

With every sentence he uttered his eyes widened a bit more, his voice rising, until he ended up staring incredulously at the goblin.

"A marriage contract?"

"Indeed."

"Is this a joke?"

The goblin glared at him. "I do not make it a habit to waste my time like this, mister Potter."

Harry stared between the papers and the goblin. His throat felt clammy and his mouth dry. He fought to bring his thoughts into order, and he succeeded.

"Who was I to marry, then? Please tell me it's not Astoria. I hear she's been getting it on with Malfoy."

"On the fourth page it is mentioned-"

Harry ignored him, going to the fourth page and reading it carefully. In a part he had previously skimmed, was mentioned the phrase 'eldest daughter'.

That gave him pause. "Daphne, huh?"

His thoughts travelled to the blond-haired Greengrass sister. She'd been in his year back in Hogwarts, though they'd never really interacted. Back then, she was friends with Davis and her troupe, though she never bothered to join any of the fights with the Gryffindors. Harry had seen her on few occasions since then, and always when his attention was focused elsewhere. Daphne, to his knowledge, was a socialite, working to spread her family's influence in the noble and rich circles.

There was one thing that Harry knew about her that made her stand out, something that she hadn't yet had in their Hogwarts years and Harry wouldn't have cared much even if she had. She was stunning, renowned far and wide for her beauty.

Regardless, this didn't make the situation any less bizarre.

"How is the contract still in effect?" Harry wondered. "It says no less than two years after my eighteenth birthday, and yet it's been several years past that. Why was I never notified before?"

For the first time, the goblin looked mildly uncomfortable. "That was an unfortunate repercussion of the dark times we were under at those years. A lot has been lost, misplaced, or misfiled. Your contract was recently rediscovered."

"So you're saying that it's your fault?"

The goblin glared at him again, but things much scarier had tried to intimidate Harry. He only smiled.

"Regardless of blame, mister Potter, Gringotts understands that you were not aware, not properly notified, and thus bear no responsibility for missing out on your deadline, the consequences of which would have been … severe. We extended your deadline anew, though the period we can allow you is not too long."

"Wait, so you mean this is still active?"

Boltnail looked affronted. "Of course. We take pride in our work, mister Potter. No contract signed in Gringotts has been broken in over eight hundred years."

"How binding is this? Is there a way to dissolve it?"

The goblin looked at him over his glasses, distaste evident in his beady eyes. "Mister Potter, this is a classic marriage contract, formatted in the style of Gorman and Underwood in the 1700s. One of the strictest models, actually. It might have fallen slightly out of favor in the last sixty years, but it's still well known and sees use to this day."

"Is there a way to break it?" Harry pressed.

Boltnail pursed his lips. "Breaking a Gorman Underwood is not … unprecedented, but it requires very specific and rare circumstances, unique to each case, that I'm not certain you and lady Greengrass fulfill."

"Could I do that?" Harry asked, running his hand through his hair, thoughts running a mile a minute.

"I am not certain. It will require quite a bit of research."

"Do it, then." After a second's thought, he shook his head. "Never mind, my lawyers will do it. Just be sure to assist them whenever they come."

"As you wish, mister Potter."

"When is the renewed deadline?"

"Four months from now. And might I be the first one to congratulate you and the future miss Potter?"

Harry felt dizzy. He rose from his chair in a sharp move. "You're not helping, Boltnail. Is there anything else?"

"Nothing immediate, now that you have been notified. My office is available to you should you require any further discussion over this or any other contract."

Harry left Gringotts in a daze, a copy of the marriage contract that his parents signed for him safely in his pocket. Rather than Apparate back to his apartment, he Apparated back into the Ministry atrium. He had some owls to send.

The Ministry was closed to the public at this hour and only manned by a skeleton crew of workers, not counting the guards. Harry greeted some on his way to his office. Once there, he wrote the letters he needed, then sent them away with a few ministry owls. Some of the recipients were outside of England, so he'd have to wait until tomorrow for a response.

Having done this, Harry did his best to take the matter out of his mind. There was nothing else he could do until he knew more, so there was no point in worrying about it. He left the Ministry and returned to his place, a nice apartment at the edge of Diagon Alley.

But still, it bugged him. His parents had signed him off to be married before he was even born? _What the hell, Mum and Dad? You'd better have a good explanation for this._

A stiff drink was necessary as Harry relaxed in his living room that night, trying to figure out what his parents had been thinking. Perhaps he could buy his dad agreeing to this, considering the fact that he was a pureblood from an old family line to whom things like this weren't foreign, but what about his mother? Why would Lily Potter agree to sign off her child's future, without any input from the child itself? It made no sense.

Harry's gaze was drawn to a wooden counter, idly placed next to the wall. Inside it, he knew, underneath the most complicated charms array he could produce using the Elder Wand, lay a switch. Unassuming on its own, but that switch was the key to opening a small vault, otherwise all but impenetrable, in a hidden location near the coast.

Inside that vault, Harry had placed the Resurrection Stone after retrieving it from the Forbidden Forest.

He was sorely tempted. Nursing his drink, frowning at nothing, Harry was tempted to break his vow never to use the Stone again. It would be so simple. He could call them and ask them, then he could simply put the Stone back. No one would know.

 _He_ would. _He_ would know. And what was to stop him from summoning them again when something else came up? Doing it once would make doing it again easier. Dramatic as the situation might be, he wasn't even dying this time.

Harry snorted. He was pretty certain that if he were dying, he wouldn't be considering using the Stone again. Death, he could handle.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

One of the perks of being Head Auror was the ability to set up your own timetable. As long as Harry got his work done and didn't inconvenience the department's operation, he could come and go whenever he pleased. Of course, it was much more efficient to just have a set schedule during which he worked, but for days like these, it was useful.

"Thank you all for your swift response to my letters." He paused, looking around his office, looking at each and every person there for a few seconds. Six people surrounded his desk, three men and three women, smartly dressed, who gave him a single nod.

"Each and every one of you is one of the best available lawyers in Europe right now," Harry stressed, waiting to see their reactions. The youngest, just a little older than Harry himself, allowed a small smile on his face.

"Some of you are here because of my fame," Harry said, receiving no reaction. "Some of you because of the money you know I can pay. Some just want the chance to work for me." Still, none of the lawyers seemed to react to his words. Harry gave them a quick smile. "That's fine. We all know how this works. Do this for me, complete this task to my satisfaction, and all those things will be yours. However, I expect you to put aside whatever professional differences you may have and work together, otherwise I will be very, very disappointed, and that's bad business for everyone involved. Are we clear?"

He looked at each of them in turn, waiting for their word of acknowledgement.

When he was satisfied with their response, Harry pulled the contract from a drawer on his desk. He dropped the numerous pages on its surface, seemingly without care. The parchment fell with an ominous thud. Harry's wand appeared in his hand and the contract glowed for a brief second, before multiplying. Each person in the room now had a copy of the contract. The lawyers moved to pick up their copies and began riffling through them.

"This is a contract with my name on it. Most of the stuff written on it is beyond my capacity to understand, but it's very important that I know exactly how it works. I want you to study it. Carefully. Learn it, own it. Every detail, every clause, every specification. I want to know if it can be broken. I want to know why the people responsible signed it. I want to know my options. I want to know the exact terms agreed on. Any possible loopholes, any expectations, any restraints. Anything that could be even remotely relevant, I want it catalogued and presented to me in three days' time. You will each be compiling a separate report on your findings, as well as a group report. Any questions?"

A woman spoke up. "We'll have to do research to try and guess at the motives of the people involved. That means we'll have to talk to people that know them, go through their history etcetera. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, as long as you don't become too overbearing. I expect people of your reputation to be able to handle such matters delicately."

A man frowned, looking up from the contract, and spoke with a faint French accent: "What about the Greengrass family?"

Harry considered for a few seconds. "Do your research, but be discreet. I'd rather they don't know what I'm doing if we can help it. Anything else?"

The man shook his head. "Not at the moment, mister Potter."

"Anything?" Harry asked again, looking, around, receiving only shakes of the head. "I'll be expecting you all in three days."

Dismissed, the lawyers gave their farewells and vacated his office. Now alone, Harry took a few minutes to collect his thoughts. Then, he retrieved a small piece of parchment, tapping it once with his wand of holly.

"Gibbons, can you come to my office please?"

The parchment floated up from the desk and folded itself into a paper airplane before taking off. It phased through the door and out of his sight.

Randall Gibbons was a retired Auror, now on a desk job. In the unspoken hierarchy of experience, age, and deeds, Gibbons was close to the top among the Aurors. He was well-respected and with many responsibilities. His mechanical foot might not allow him to go out into the field anymore, but he was still very useful in the Auror Office, being one of the people in charge of organizing the archives and handling of sensitive information.

Gibbons came in a few minutes later, his gait followed the characteristic clang of his foot. His face was lightly scarred, his hair mostly gray. "What's the matter, boss?"

Despite their age difference, Gibbons respected him. Harry, in turn, trusted in both his competence as well as his discretion.

"I want everything we have on the Greengrass family."

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

It was unfortunate that Harry had to cancel his planned visit on Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't let this wait. It would just bug him all evening and he would've been terrible company. He sent an apologetic letter, citing sudden work, and got to business.

Business, as it were, meant spending hours upon hours riffling over everything the DMLE had on the Greengrass family. As Head Auror of a few years now, he had a passing familiarity with every notable family in Britain, but 'passing familiarity' wasn't good enough anymore. Gibbons had proven his worth once again and gotten him everything Harry asked for, but Harry couldn't very well let him or some random worker go through it. They wouldn't know what to look for. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, and he didn't want to get more people involved than absolutely necessary.

He pored through everything the department had on Daphne's family. He started with the easiest, those being properties, liquid assets, Gringotts vault, and business transactions. If he perceived the contract correctly, the Greengrass fortune would be very relevant to him very soon.

The Greengrass family was, in a few words, smart. They'd managed to stay out of most major conflicts of the last centuries and profit off of them, somehow managing to avoid the wrath of either of the sides involved. They didn't own a lot of businesses, but those they did own were profitable, mostly centered around trading, organizing and arranging magical imports and exports throughout Europe. They owned a sizable estate in Wales, and a few spare properties all around. Compared to some of the other pureblood families like the Blacks, the Malfoys or the Lestranges they weren't considered particularly wealthy, but no one denied that they were well-off.

Politically, the family had expanded their sphere of influence in the last century, Fabio Greengrass and his father Agnus before him, had attached themselves to Britain's trade industry and slowly but steadily integrated themselves into the system, making the Ministry semi-reliant on their favorable prices. This had elevated their family's social standing, in conjuction with their not unimpressive wealth and near-exclusive breeding, for which the family was rather famous. Few families could claim heritage as long or undiluted as the Greengrass family, who boasted about the lack of muggles or muggleborns in their family trees. The Department had some suspicions regarding a few cases but as far as the general public was concerned, the family was as pure as they came.

After those, Harry started reading reports made on each Greengrass family member specifically. As a prominent pureblood family, they too had been under close scrutiny after the end of the war, though they had managed to avoid trouble with the newly established Ministry. It was decided that the family had once again managed to avoid direct involvement in the conflict, however known their pureblood pride was. It had been rather baffling to the investigator in charge of them, Harry noted, that Fabio had elected not to openly side with Voldemort, even when the Dark Lord had seemingly conquered the country. It was no secret that the man was a pureblood supremacist, yet he apparently refused to become a radical.

 _Power to him,_ Harry thought. That didn't take him off the watchlist of the Ministry. His file was … interesting. The man was smart enough to avoid illegal activities, probably aware of Ministry surveillance, but still. Harry went through all their files, Fabio's, Karina's, even Astoria's (whose file made him slightly green, he did not want to know the details of Malfoy's courtship), though he focused most on Daphne's. It detailed some of her life after her Hogwarts days, leading up to today. There were some interesting things there, potentially useful, even. It was certainly more than Harry had known before about his prospective wife-to-be.

By the time he left his office, it was late enough to be considered early.

The next day, he went to work early. A pepper-up potion was enough to stave off the effects of his late-night research, and he was able to get most of his responsibilities out of the way relatively quickly. Thankfully, it wasn't a busy day for the Auror Office, and that allowed Harry to wrap up relatively early.

He had plans for tonight.

Around six, he sent a paper airplane from his office. It read 'Will you accompany me to the Foreign Affairs party tonight? HP'

He received a reply not much later. 'Sure,' it read. 'Pick me up at 9. SB'.

With that, Harry organized his desk, before leaving the Ministry. He had to get dressed for the occasion.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

"Harry, what are we doing here?"

"Hm?" Harry turned to his companion, giving her a dazzling smile as they continued their gentle swaying to the music. "Enjoying a nice Ministry event?"

Around the two of them, the party continued in full-swing. Ministry employees, mostly from the International Cooperation department, were in attendance, along with an abundance of diplomats, politicians and socialites. Dancing and refreshments filled the Ministry's event hall, tastefully decorated for the event.

Curiously, the event hall was a facility by itself, outside of the Ministry building.

The redhead pouted, giving him a huff. "Not that I'm not enjoying myself, Harry, but I would like to know what brought this on."

"Can't I just be having a nice evening out with you, Susan? You look amazing, by the way. You make the dress look great."

Susan blushed just a bit at the compliment and gave him a smile, almost hiding behind her long, curly hair.

"Thank you, though I believe you already said something to that effect," she replied. "But I do have to wonder what made you overcome your aversion to these little Ministry get-togethers."

An ironic understatement on her part, Harry knew. The who's who of wizarding Britain gathered and made business in these events. Harry would attend when necessary, but not if he could help it. While the people in these gatherings would not outright mob him, it was still not a very good experience when almost everyone wanted to talk to him.

There was no use lying to Susan. "I'm keeping an eye on someone."

She frowned as the two of them absently followed the steps of the dance. "Someone in danger? Or someone dangerous?"

"Neither. Just a … curiosity."

Susan followed his gaze to the blonde twirling expertly on the other side of the dance floor. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Daphne? Finally done in by her charms, then?"

Harry chuckled with a shake of his head. "Not yet. Business will bring us together soon, though, so I figured I'd try and find out what she's like." Technically true.

"Is that why you asked me? To have someone on your arm while you watched her?"

Harry shook his head. Susan was one of the very few people that he could call a real friend. Someone he trusted.

"I could have asked Hermione."

She grinned. "But think of the scandal!"

Harry gave a snort. "I thought people finally stopped seeing things between us when she married Ron and had his kid."

"Harry, Harry, Harry. How little you know of the world. That only made the gossip _juicier_."

Positive that Susan was suitably assured, he jerked his head in Daphne's direction. "You two operate in the same circles. What can you tell me about her?"

"That you wouldn't find on her file, which I assume you've gone over? A few things, but it won't be for free."

He raised an eyebrow. "What would you like in return?"

"Say, sixty percent of your attention for the rest of the evening."

Harry laughed. "If I manage to satisfy my curiosity, you will have no less than my undivided attention, Susan."

"Well then, I'll take that deal. Let's go get a drink, and I'll tell you what I know."

Over the next half hour, Susan told him a few things about the eldest Greengrass. As she did, Harry watched the subject of their discussion dance, and talk, and laugh in that reserved, elegant way only aristocratic women could manage. Even from across the room, Daphne looked great in her midnight dress, low heels, and delicate jewelry. Her blond hair was up in an elaborate braid that must have required magic to make and maintain. The rumors were not unfounded.

As promised, Susan told him what she knew. Daphne was employed in her father's business, but her main occupation was that of a socialite, maintaining connections and relations with influential people on his behest. She belonged to the aristocratic crowd, Susan said. If ever there was a stereotypical pureblood heiress, that was her. Susan said that with a snort, but she elaborated, explaining that Daphne was only ever seen in the presence of the rich, the influential or both. Apparently she took great care in her reputation, and was prideful to a fault if not outright arrogant, though she could be incredibly charming when she wished.

Harry planned to test the validity of this description soon enough.

Apparently, there was some sort of competition among the younger aristocrats over who would accompany the lady Greengrass in each event, and her decision was taken as a sign of favor. Harry snorted at the thought. However beautiful she was, that seemed a bit extreme.

He did watch her for a bit as she navigated the groups of politicians and diplomats with ease and grace. Harry would have perhaps liked to watch her a bit longer, to see if she'd slip up at any point, but he knew that it was rude to watch another woman when he was with company. He devoted the rest of the evening and the night that followed to Susan, as he had promised.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

"So," Harry started, looking at the lawyers once again gathered around his desk. "Tell me why my parents decided to sell my future."

The eldest among them, a woman from Germany, looked between her colleagues. "If I may?" The rest of them nodded, giving her permission to speak for all of them. "Let's take them one at a time, mister Potter, yes? You have our joined report?"

He nodded. "I will study it and the personal ones meticulously, but I'd like to hear from you directly first."

"What would you like to ask first?"

"Why a marriage contract? Why would my parents, or Daphne's, do that?"

"Well." The woman paused, pushing up her glasses, before continuing. "Bear in mind that with just two days, the validity of our checks could be questionable."

Harry waved the warning away, bidding her to continue.

"The Gorman Underwood style is old, following customs dating back centuries. It essentially inducts you into the family through marriage to the eldest child, making you direct heir to the family and all that it entails. It transfers all the rights of the bride, in this case, miss Greengrass, over to you."

Harry blinked. "Huh. Imagine that. All the rights, you say?"

She nodded. "It is essentially a transfer of ownership from the father to the groom. Old families like the Greengrass adhere to such customs. Few families use such contracts anymore, because they make that sort of mindset, that of personal ownership, into actual law, legal and magical."

"You're saying I _own_ Daphne?"

She shook her head. "You will once your marriage is performed, not before. Though the contract's signing by definition binds her to you until that moment."

"Why would she marry me if that is the case?"

"Well, she doesn't have a choice. It's not up to her to decide."

"That's monstrous!"

The lawyer coughed in her hand. "Be that as it may, mister Potter, the contract is active."

Harry groaned for a second before taking a deep breath. "Fine, fine, I'll focus. So, if the contract essentially passes Daphne and the right of heir to me, why would Fabio create it in the first place?"

"From what we were able to gather, your grandfather, Charlus Potter, saved Fabio Greengrass' life when he was very young. We couldn't find too many details, but the important thing is that the two were close until your grandfather's passing. At the time, the Potter family owned several mining companies. The contract essentially exchanges the eldest daughter and right of succession for an advantageous partnership with the Potter businesses."

Harry frowned. "The only thing left from the Potter fortune is our vault in Gringotts. Voldemort destroyed the business, the mines, and the manor."

"Unfortunate as that may be, and it is, it doesn't affect the contract."

"But the business Fabio signed for no longer exists."

"The contract is magically binding, mister Potter. So long as you don't break your end of the bargain, it doesn't affect you. It is impossible to accomplish as things are today, but the contract is adamant that everyone holds up their end to the best of their abilities."

"So Fabio is giving Daphne and his family's future and getting nothing in return?"

"This kind of rigidity is the reason why contracts of this format are seldom used, in this day and age, but you are essentially correct."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Hell, I wouldn't want to be in his position."

He leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he processed what he heard.

"I still don't get why my parents would agree to this, even if it was grandfather's idea."

The German woman shifted through a few papers in her hands. "From, what we managed to gather, your mother was good friends with Karina Greengrass, née Davis."

She offered something to Harry. Taking it, Harry saw that it was a magical photograph. Frayed and a little torn, but still working. His mother, probably around her fourth or fifth year, waved at him, her hand casually around the waist of a blonde haired woman who looked suspiciously like Daphne. They were both smiling and, indeed, looked very friendly and comfortable with each other.

"So they decided to just marry off their children?" Harry asked, incredulous. "What were they, thirteen?"

"It at least explains why they were not opposed to the idea."

Harry's frown deepened. "I still don't buy it. Mum wouldn't have just given away my ability to choose my own wife. She wasn't a pureblood, she wasn't raised steeped in tradition."

The woman smiled. "Your intuition, as it happens, is correct, mister Potter. We managed to locate the goblin who oversaw the signing of the original contract, and he had a rather fascinating tale to tell. As you know, a Gorman Underwood normally cannot be broken or cancelled."

"I'm sensing a 'but' somewhere here."

" _But_ , your mother insisted that a loophole be added. It is, from what we could gather, the biggest deviation from a standard Gorman Underwood. Your mother tweaked the terms of the contract so that, through the completion of a few forms, the invocation of several bylaws and clauses that you will see detailed in our report, you could essentially void it."

Harry breathed a sigh, feeling much more relief than he had expected. It wasn't just because he now had an out, should he need it, but it was mostly because he now knew he hadn't been wrong about his parents, that they wouldn't do something this permanent without thought of his own opinion of it.

"Can Daphne use the same loophole?"

"No, mister Potter. It was agreed upon that only you could void the contract, before the wedding itself. As I understand it, your mother's request was considered quite strange."

"Can Daphne counter the contract in any other way?"

"Mister Potter, as far as the contract is concerned, miss Greengrass has no more rights than a decorative clay pot."

Harry blinked. That was a bit more frank than he'd expected from the elder woman. "Okay. So, my mother thought that it would be just the _cutest_ if her kid and her friend's kid got to marry, what about my dad? I doubt he had the same thought."

The elder lawyer coughed into her hand, some embarrassment evident in her posture. "Um, not quite," she said as she shifted her papers, pulling one particular out of the pile. "Your late father agreed to the contract your grandfather proposed, but he had a few of his own ideas and restrictions."

"Restrictions?"

She nodded. "The late mister Potter wrote some subsections of the contract, detailed a few terms without the completion of which the contract would be violated on the part of the Greengrass family."

"What terms?"

"Well, he … he set a few … requirements, of the bride. A set of bodily measurements to be met, if you will."

"Excuse me?"

"I think it is best if you read it yourself," the lawyer said, clearly not wanting to elaborate further. Harry accepted the parchment and glanced over it. As he read on, his eyes grew wider and wider.

Bloody hell, but his father had high standards. _Very_ high standards. He couldn't imagine that that particular conversation, the one where he objectified the unborn future wife to-be of his unborn son, must have gone over well with his mother, but it did make it onto the final draft of the contract.

Then, another thought occurred to him.

"And Daphne fulfills these requirements?"

"Perfectly. Exceeds them, even, if her family doctor and lawyers are to be believed."

Harry put the parchment down and fell back into his chair, pursing his lips.

This … he had to think about this.

"Leave your personal written reports here before you go, please. We'll be in contact regarding your payments and any potential questions or representation I may require."

"As you wish, mister Potter."

"Oh, and something else."

"Yes?"

"You know, about this loophole?"

"What about it?"

"If someone comes to one of you, asking about ways to break the contract, someone like my friend Hermione Weasley, let's just … pretend that there aren't any, okay?"

She blinked in confusion. "You want us to lie?"

"Yes. I believe that's a sizable part of what you do. Lie, or avoid answering."

The woman looked mildly offended, but she nevertheless nodded. "As you wish."

"Thank you for your assistance."

Finally alone, Harry spent the next few minutes silent and unmoving. Eventually, his gaze was drawn back to the piece of parchment sitting innocently on his desk.

"... bloody hell."

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

"Everything alright, mate?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm just asking. You've been … distracted the whole week. Is something bothering you?"

"Everything's fine, Ron."

"Harry you've been acting weird the last few days."

"That's hurtful Hermione- don't give me that look."

"What's with your sudden burst of public appearances, then?"

"I just figured I should spend more time with the Ministry's top brass and visiting dignitaries."

Hermione snorted. "Tell us what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on. It's all part of my plan."

"God, please don't start talking about your plan again."

Harry crossed his arms and looked away, annoyed. "It's a good plan," he muttered.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

It took Daphne two weeks to come to him.

"Your four is here, mister Potter."

Harry looked up from his work, affixing his glasses before nodding. He'd been expecting this. "Send her in."

Daphne struck an intimidating figure, in the way only attractive women can, even when she was not dressed for a cocktail party. Her jacket alone, if Harry knew his brands right, cost more than most Ministry workers made in six months. Her hair was done in a low ponytail, left to fall down her back outside of the jacket.

"I greet you, Head Auror."

Harry resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow, deciding to play along. "Greetings, miss Greengrass. Please come in, take a seat," he said, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Daphne approached, giving the chairs a weary look, and seemed to physically force herself to sit. Harry almost took offense. They were quite nice chairs.

"Would you care for a refreshment?" he asked, idly twirling his wand on his right hand. Daphne seemed to consider it for a second, her focused expression accentuating her high cheekbones.

"The hour is a little early, but something strong would not be amiss, in this occasion."

"What would you like?"

"Some Ogden's, perchance?"

"Right away."

Harry waved his wand once and a cabinet behind him opened. Inside were many, many tiny bottles. One rose by itself, along with a pair of tiny glasses. The bottle and the glasses grew back to their original size and carefully filled themselves. Harry snatched the glasses out of the air and offered one to Daphne as the bottle shrank and returned to the cabinet.

"Thank you," Daphne said as she accepted the glass and took a sip. A bit early in the day for firewhiskey, true, but Harry didn't disagree that the situation called for it.

"How can the Auror Office help you today, miss Greengrass?"

"I am not here seeking the assistance of the Aurors." Her tone reminded Harry of Narcissa Malfoy, in some ways. Tightly controlled, deliberately caustic, projecting superiority with every uttered syllable. Did they teach that to pureblood children?

"You made an appointment with the Head Auror for a social call, then?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

Harry smiled. "Just as well. I'm glad you came to see me. Can I just say that you look great today?"

Her mouth quirked in a small smile. "I appreciate the compliment and the sentiment. It is also good to see you. It has been long since last we spoke."

Harry raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "You know Daphne, I'm taking a trip down memory lane right now, and try as I might, I can't recall us two ever exchanging a single word."

Daphne seemed to consider this, taking another sip of her drink to stall for a few extra seconds. "Indeed. An unfortunate byproduct of the Hogwarts separation system."

"You'd think two yearmates would have said something to each other after seven years. You were friends with Davis as I recall, correct? She seemed to have no trouble exchanging words with me."

Daphne waved a hand dismissively. "I don't share Tracey's inclination for trouble, nor her fascination with Malfoy. I saw no reason to antagonise you or your friends."

Harry raised his glass slightly. "If only the rest of us shared your maturity at the time, it would've saved us loads of trouble."

"It was certainly fun to watch, however."

Harry snorted. "I'll bet it was. Although, I'll admit to some surprise. Your sister is set to marry Draco Malfoy, is she not?"

Daphne grimaced just so, taking another swig of her glass. "I need no reminder of that fact. Much as I would wish it different, Father is insistent, and so it shall be."

It was not Harry's place to question the concept of family obedience. He respected the fact that many families operated that way, and he had no right to judge them for it. He chose another angle of approach.

"I can understand it from a business standpoint," he said. "Malfoy's overseas connections would be a great asset to someone looking to expand by, say, assimilating Harvey and Corney Magical Transportation?"

Daphne tensed, her brow creasing in a furrow. Her eyes pierced his. From her look, Harry half-expected a Legilimency attempt, but his vigilance proved excessive.

"How are you … aware of this?"

"I have my sources," he said. This was a calculated move on his part. Hopefully, now that Fabio knew that the Auror Office was aware of the move he was preparing in secret, he would make sure to keep everything legal and clean.

"I … see." Daphne said, tapping her fingers against the glass. "It gladdens me to see our Head Auror take his profession as seriously as you do. Why, one would think that your talents are almost … wasted. Someone at your position would, perhaps, believe that the role of Director would be more suited to him?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. She phrased it as a question, but it wasn't.

"Perhaps one such as you would have even began making his move on the seat. Director Baker would be unaware of the encroaching threat to his position."

This gave Harry, in turn, pause. He drank from his glass. His expression must have given something away, because Daphne gave a satisfied smile, getting more comfortable in her chair.

"I'm not going to ask you how you are aware of this."

She chuckled. "I hadn't expected you to. But you should. I wouldn't be afraid to tell you how transparent the fact that you're putting your pawns in strategic positions is."

Harry frowned. "I like to call them my friends, you know."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Do not get semantical over terminology. You are correct, regardless. You would do a much better job as Director than Baker."

Harry wasn't sure if she was sincere or trying to butter him up, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "I appreciate the chance to chat, but this is a fixed appointment, and our time is limited. I'm only speculating, but if there was something particular you wanted to talk about, now would be the time to bring it up, since our time will end soon."

Daphne clicked her tongue in annoyance. "You know why I am here."

Harry allowed himself a smile. "Do I?"

"Magic save me-, yes, Potter, you do."

His smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew ever so slightly wider. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

When next she spoke, it sounded as if the words were physically painful. "I am talking about the contract. You know about it, correct?"

"Oh, that. Well, why didn't you simply say so? Yes, I was notified a few weeks ago."

"And yet, you have done nothing?"

"What exactly did you expect me to do?"

Her face darkened, her lips pulling back in the beginning of a snarl, but she held herself back, forcibly calming her expression. "Void the contract."

"I'm told I can't void a Gorman Underwood style contract. Supposedly, it's one of the strictest formats available. You know, I didn't even know marriage contracts were still in use?"

Daphne grimaced. Harry guessed she was suppressing the urge to sneer. "That is because you do not navigate the right circles. Those befitting your line or your station. You lower yourself to those beneath you, and I do not understand why."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Look where the 'right circles' got you. The contract isn't very favorable to you, is it? What do you think of tradition after this? From what I understand, Gorman Underwood are very old and were used by very prominent families, rich and noble, throughout Europe."

She looked rather irritated. Harry didn't understand why: he was feeling quite amused himself. "It is an unfortunate situation, I will not deny that. Even so, it can be diffused. You have but to void the contract."

"I thought I couldn't?"

"Do not play the fool with me, Potter!" she all but yelled, her grasp on her temper failing momentarily. She took a deep breath, and Harry said nothing as she reined in her anger. "I know the kind of resources you have access to. You know very well what Lily Potter did for you."

Harry smiled. "It does feel very nice, knowing that my parents loved me and made everything as advantageous as possible for me."

Her expression clouded again, her fingers clutching the glass in a grip much harder than necessary.

"When will you void the contract?"

Harry widened his eyes, acting surprised. "Void it? Why would I do that?"

"Is this what passes for a joke to you? Do you have any idea what this contract needs? I … we are to be _wed_ , Potter."

"I read the contract, thanks. I also read the terms. They seem rather favorable to me. I don't see why I should reject it."

She pursed her lips, probably holding herself back from doing or saying something she'd regret. When she finally spoke, she did so in a softer tone.

"I … I admit that I did not expect you to not be terrified at the prospect of marriage to a complete stranger."

"I'm sure we'll work it out. Our parents were such good friends, after all."

"Look, Potter. There's no need for this to get out of hand. I came to you because you can end this voluntarily, and no one has to be unhappy from a legal challenge."

"No, you came to me because the only way the contract doesn't go through is if I decide so. And you waited until now because you expected me to void it by myself without your interference. Am I wrong?"

Even if Harry wasn't Head Auror, which included being a well-trained and experienced interrogator, he would have known Daphne's shocked expression for what it was. Confirmation.

"I … I didn't…"

"And now you came to me, expecting me to just do as you said? You thought you knew me, had me figured out? You thought the concept of arranged marriage would be so horrifying to me, didn't you?"

To her credit, she wasn't speechless for more than a few seconds. "Listen, Potter. Perhaps you are right, and I assumed too much of you." Harry tipped his head in acknowledgment. "But even so, I do not think I was wrong about your character. You are a man of morals. A man of vision. Your work in the Ministry is proof of this. You can understand when some customs are meant to be used, and when they are not. I do not believe that you would bind me to you without my consent, not like this. I have discussed this with Father, and he is more than willing to conduct business with you, in terms perhaps comparable to those on the contract. There is no need to complicate this mistake on our parents' part."

She left her glass on his desk, pushed her chair back and got up.

"I believe I have taken up enough of your time, Head Auror." She reached inside her jacket, pulling out a few papers. "I am told that these are all the necessary forms to get the contract voided." She gently laid them on the desk. "I trust that you will make the right decision. When you do, contact us to discuss how best to bring the Potter name back into competitive enterprising. I believe we can make something majestic out of this mistake that our parents made, all those years ago."

Harry had to give it to her. She'd put quite some thought into this. "Well spoken, lady Greengrass. Should I accompany you to the Floo?"

"No, I believe I can find my way. Good day, Potter."

She was careful not to close the door any harder than was polite, but Harry could still hear her as she stormed out of the Auror Office, probably scaring a few workers along the way.

Harry took a sip of his Ogden's Finest before setting the glass down and leaning back on his chair, hands behind his head as he considered the exchange. A smile found its way to his lips.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, miss Greengrass."

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

Harry knew he should have expected this. He really should have. Still, Hermione's horrified expression as he explained the situation made him consider the possibility that telling her was a mistake.

"Please tell me that this is a sick joke." She didn't actually let him reply. "Arranged marriages! What is this, the eighteen hundreds?"

"Hermione, perhaps you should-"

"This is completely barbaric!"

Ron's hand on hers stopped Hermione's tirade before it truly got started. She turned to look at her husband and was met with a stern look, before which she forced herself to take a deep breath.

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said, voice steady. "You'll upset the baby."

Hermione's hands rushed over to her belly, just starting to show signs of swelling.

"I know, Ron. I'm sorry. Sorry, Harry. It's just … this is exactly the sort of thing that I-"

"I understand, Hermione. Still, it's not as terrible as it sounds. My folks actually cut a pretty good deal for me."

"But that's just it, Harry. Marriage isn't a transaction. It's supposed to be a show of love, trust and commitment."

Ron tugged gently into her hand, drawing her gaze to his."Hermione, you don't have a lot of context for this."

"What do you mean Ron?"

"Arranged marriages were the norm until pretty recently. I'm sure you'll look it up later, you'll know I'm right. Contracts like the one Harry's folks signed were created specifically as a solution to family feuds and rivalries. It's the only reason the pureblood families don't slaughter each other openly, Ministry or no Ministry. Well, ignoring the recent Voldemort situation. It's much harder to declare war on another family when your sister is married to them. It's equally bad for you to cheat that family in some way when her fortune is tied to them."

Hermione let out a frustrated sound. "I can understand that. But times have changed, haven't they? Marriage contracts aren't really used much anymore, are they?"

Ron nodded. "Not really. Some families use them, but they just sorta … went out of fashion, I guess."

"I prefer to think of it as society shedding barbaric and oppressive practises the moment they were no longer absolutely necessary."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe. Doesn't really help us now, though."

Hermione turned to Harry. "Are you absolutely sure you can't cancel this contract?"

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. "My lawyers couldn't find a way, and they're the best money and reputation can hire."

"This is … this is insane, Harry. Why would your parents do this to you? I never would've thought … I mean … Harry, they _died_ for you."

Harry nodded. "It sounds weird at first, but I'm pretty sure that they did it _for_ me. Mum and Dad made sure I would get as much out of this as possible."

"What about your freedom of choice, Harry? What if you don't love Daphne? What if you loved someone else? Why does this not bother you?"

"I don't really know. I talked to Daphne, and I think we can at least get along. Perhaps we can work it out. It's not like I have a choice, you know, so I might as well try to make the best of it."

Hermione threw an incredulous look at him. "So you're just going to give up like this?" She turned to Ron. "Are these contracts really that absolute?"

"Some are," Ron said. "I remember Mum talking about something like that. Some are stricter than other, but generally they're not unbreakable, no. Harry's must be a rare version. I don't really know them, though."

"You're both so calm, am I the only one seeing how terrible this is?"

"I think it's the hormones, honey."

Hermione's glare could have melted solid stone, but Ron withstood it with but a smile. Hermione gave up with a frustrated groan as she got up from the couch.

"I'll go check on dinner. I need time away from you two."

"Could you bring some tea as well, love?"

"Fine." She turned to Harry. "I promise I'll find a way out of it for you. I'm so sorry this happened, Harry."

"Don't push yourself," Harry cautioned. "Focus on your family for now, okay?"

Hermione shook her head and didn't reply, instead choosing to leave the living room, leaving the two men by themselves.

Harry turned to Ron, who was giving him a speculative look. Harry felt oddly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"You're very lucky Hermione is pregnant as well as very, very upset, or she'd be able to tell, too."

"Tell what, Ron?"

"You're lying, aren't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "About what?"

"About the contract. Something about it."

"Don't be ridiculous Ron. Why would I lie?"

Ron narrowed his eyes at him. "You can stop it, can't you?"

Harry regarded his best friend for a minute, before letting out a breath he was holding. "Yeah," he admitted.

"What's going on, Harry?"

"As I said, it's a good deal."

"Come on mate, tell me the truth."

"I just … want to see where this goes. Perhaps it might turn out for the better."

"But still, marriage?"

He shrugged. "Never said it was a good idea. Might not even come to that."

Ron was silent for a bit, mulling it over. After a quiet minute, he spoke again. "Are you sure about this, Harry?"

"Eh. Not ... really?"

"You're not sure about this life-changing decision you're about to make?"

"Everything sounds bad when spoken of in that tone."

Ron ignored him, letting out a breath of relief. "Oh, good. You had me worried there for a second, mate."

Harry gave him a confused look. "What the hell, Ron?"

"You gotta admit mate, things tend to go tits up when you're sure about something you're about to do."

That was a … rather accurate summarization of several years' worth of dangerous situations, actually.

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Ron shrugged again, getting more comfortable on the couch. It'd been a few years since Ron was an active Auror, and it sort of showed on his slowly but steadily expanding belly.

"It's your life, mate. If you want to do something crazy and stupid, well, who am I to tell you otherwise?"

"I had … well, I'd expected more resistance from you, actually."

"Why?"

"Because it's Daphne. She was a Slytherin in our year, remember?"

Ron made a face. "I mean, yeah, sure, slimy Slytherins and all that. But I've seen the bird, mate. If you've a chance to bag her and make it for life, I'm not gonna try to talk you out of it. Go for it and good luck, I say."

Harry stood there, gobsmacked, staring at Ron. "You're the best friend a man could ask for mate, you know that?"

"And on that cheery note, I'll go check on the wife. Piece of advice? Never have children with your wife."

"I think you've met your quota of good advice for today, Ron."

Ron shrugged on his way to the kitchen. "Can't all be winners."

* * *

 **~TMC~**

* * *

It took another two weeks for Daphne to come to him again.

Harry was filling some forms on his desk, minding his own business, when he heard the commotion from outside. He raised his head to look at the door. He could hear several raised voices as well as stomping steps approaching his office.

"You can't go in there without an appo-"

"Out of my way, worm!" A loud smack followed the angry exclamation, which in turn gave way to a pained yell as the door to his office opened and a livid Daphne Greengrass stormed inside. Behind her, Radley and another secretary awkwardly stood next to the door. Radley sported a rather painful-looking hand-print on his right cheek. Harry could see a pair of off-duty Aurors in the hallway beginning to draw their wands. He raised his hand and motioned them away. With a nod, they did so.

Harry turned to look at Radley, who had started speaking. "... really sorry, sir. She just barged in and, well, we didn't want to use force to-"

"Get out right this instant!" Daphne said with a glare, staring down at the two secretaries like they were particularly offensive bird droppings.

Harry gave a nod. "It's alright, Radley. You can go. I'll see what's bothering miss Greengrass here. Push up my six for ten minutes, would you?"

"You will be rather incapable of having a meeting when I'm through with you, Potter!"

"Make that thirty minutes, Radley."

"Y-, yes sir."

Now alone, Harry leveled a cheerful expression at the Greengrass heiress. "Greetings, Daphne. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?"

Daphne ignored him, stomping her way to his desk and slamming her hands on its surface as she gave him a glare.

"Why haven't you signed the cancellation yet, Potter?" she all but yelled into his face. Harry was instantly thankful for the one-way muting charms on the walls and door to his office.

If Harry hadn't gone through a rather explosive separation with the spitfire that was Ginny Weasley, the display would have been rather intimidating. As it was, he still had to suppress the instinct to pull back.

"I think it's alright for you to call me Harry by now, Daphne."

"I have had enough of your cheek."

"Well, get used to it."

"I do not _want_ to get used to it," she snarled. "I want you to sign this accursed form so I can get back to my life, which does _not_ include you."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Potter, you yourself admitted that we've barely exchanged a single word before this blasted contract. We don't know anything about each other."

"What better way than this, then?"

"Get this in your head, Potter. I will _not_ marry you. Absolutely not, not in a thousand years."

"Bold words from someone's who's been signed away by their parents and unable to do anything about it. And I just so happen to have this nifty contract here that disagrees with you."

Daphne's wand appeared in her hand. "Sign the forsaken paper or magic help me I will-"

"You will, what?" Harry's wand had also made an appearance. Daphne eyed it warily, her fingers clenching around her own. "Are you seriously threatening the Head Auror in the middle of the Auror Office? Disregarding that, do you really think you could beat me in a fight?"

"You are incredibly arrogant for one so supposedly humble, Potter."

"And you are very quick to underestimate me for one so supposedly observant, Daphne."

"Why are you doing this? Whatever you think you stand to gain by forcing me to marry you, I guarantee you will not get it."

"I sense a lot of displaced anger, considering it wasn't me who sold you off."

If anything, Daphne's glare intensified. "Trust me Potter, you're not the only one I'm blaming for this. But you _are_ the only one who stands in the way of the contract being voided. Let me repeat myself, this will not work out for you. If you force me to marry you, I will hate you for the rest of my life."

"We can talk about this, but first you need to stop shouting and take a seat."

She continued to glare at him, but Harry met her gaze and matched it. The standoff was broken when Daphne let out a long suffering sigh, but she did eventually throw herself in one of the seats and crossed her arms.

"Speak."

"Believe it or not, I don't want you to be trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life."

"And yet you would have us wed in three months' time, as per the contract we did not know about until a month prior?"

"I think that we should look at this as an opportunity."

Daphne looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had.

"I … what?"

"Consider your life so far. Have you never thought that something was … missing? My experiences so far have taught me that such blindsiding events can be seen as a threat, or an opportunity."

"I refuse to take the fall for you feeling dissatisfied with your life, Potter. It is not my responsibility to make you happy."

"Just listen, would you?"

"Get on with it, then!"

"The way I see it, there are two ways we get through this situation. Both ways are mine, and you'll have to deal with that and remember that your parents are responsible for this situation in the first place."

"What ways?"

"First option, you remain stubborn, aggressive, and generally disagreeable. I refuse to sign, and we will get married in three months. This is an option neither of us wants, but I think I'll deal with it easier than you would."

"And the other way?" Daphne all but growled.

"The second way is my personal favorite. You stop thinking of me as the enemy, and give me a chance. You agree to do one thing for me, and in return I will sign the papers and cancel the contract."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Do … a thing?"

Harry nodded.

"Choose your next words _very_ carefully, Potter, or you will find out exactly how competent I can be in a fight."

"All I want is a chance. So here's the deal. Agree to, let's say, five dates with me. After those five dates, I will sign, and you will be a free woman."

It took almost a full minute for Daphne to find her voice. Her face had lost its anger, replaced with pure bafflement.

"Have you truly taken leave of your senses, Potter?"

"Maybe I have. My offer stands. Five dates, and then you're free."

"What about Bones? You've been seen a lot around her lately."

"Susan knows the limits of our relationship. She's a good friend, rarely anything more."

She shook her head. "That's it? That's all you require? Five evenings out with you?"

"Yes, but I do have conditions. I want your word that you won't half-arse it. If we're to do this, I want you to actually try and have a good time. That's not to say I want you to just lie to me and pretend to go along. I want you to be yourself and consider me your escort for five evenings. You don't have anything to lose either way, right? So, promise me to try to have fun and be an active participant, and you have yourself a deal."

"Your arrogance truly knows no bounds, Potter. Do you truly believe that five dates is all it will take to reverse my decision to void the contract? Are you truly so confident in yourself that you think that is all it will take to make me want to marry you?"

"That's not what I said." Harry shrugged. "Maybe it will, maybe it won't. Either way, we both get five great dates, and at the end of it you still get to walk away unattached. Or we can go back to you trying to threaten me, my not being threatened, and we both end up in a marriage we don't want, but I get the better end of that exchange. It's your choice."

"That is not really a choice!" she hissed. "This is blackmail, Potter."

"It's really not. It's an offer. You can take it if you want me to do what you want, or you can not. Either way is fine with me."

He let her stew on that for a few seconds, giving her time to gather her thoughts. She did eventually let out a heavy breath.

"And you promise to sign the papers if I go along with this?"

Harry nodded. "You have my word. Or do you doubt that, too?"

Daphne regarded him, lips pursed, brow furrowed. Harry found it quite cute, though he didn't voice the thought.

"No," she said eventually. "Despite all this, I find myself not doubting the worth of your word."

"I'm happy to hear that. And do I have your word to give me a chance?"

She gave a nod. "I will try to approach this endeavor with as open a mind as I can manage."

"Grand, then!" Harry offered her his hand over the desk, and she looked at it like it was offending her. After a few seconds of cheerful insistence and patience, she gave in and clasped her palm around his own, shaking it once before immediately letting go.

"When's a good time for you, then?"

Daphne thought for a few seconds. "Wednesday would suffice."

"I'll come pick you up around seven. Will that do?"

"It will."

"I'll see you Wednesday, then. I should really get back to work now. Oh, also, dress casual."

If Daphne felt at all bad for disrupting his work, she did not show it, nor did she acknowledge his last sentence. She rose from her chair, heading to the door. She opened it and took a step outside, before pausing, deliberating for a second. She half turned, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Heed my warning, Potter. This will not go the way you expect it to. One way or another, you will end up regretting it."

And she was gone, the door to his office slamming closed in her wake.

Harry's confident smile faded in tandem with the sound of her departing footsteps, until all that was left was a pensive expression.

"Perhaps I will," Harry muttered to himself, before returning to his work.

* * *

 **~TMC~**


	2. Step 1: Reconnaissance

Happy New Year FFnet.

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~~*~~  
 **Step 1: Reconnaissance**  
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Harry appeared with a pop of displaced air. He adjusted his glasses and his jacket, before walking the few feet separating him from the metal gate of the Greengrass manor.

He reached with his hand against the intricate gate, thankful to the charms on his gloves for shielding him from the metal's cold surface.

His breath came out in vapors, the cold beginning to get to him while he waited. A few seconds later, the gate opened inwards by itself, allowing him entrance into the manor grounds.

He couldn't help but compare it to Malfoy Manor, the one pureblood residence that he'd spent a lot of time in at various points in his life, Weasleys excluded. Greengrass Manor shared the gloomy atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, but was less extravagant. There were no peacocks to be seen, though there was a lovely garden, seemingly unaffected by the bone-chillingly cold weather, being tended to by a few house-elves wielding tools and magic alike.

He reached the entrance, which opened to accept him, a house-elf bowing as it let him inside.

"The masters be expecting mister Potter in the livin' room."

Harry frowned slightly at the still bowing elf's direction. "I came to pick up miss Daphne so we could leave, not stay."

"Mistress Daphne be preparing, mister Potter. The masters be expecting you in the livin' room."

The elf cowered under his look, so Harry let up.

"What's your name, little guy?"

The elf hesitated, its eyes going wide as saucers. "Me is Trixy."

"Little miss, then. Lead the way, Trixy."

"Right this ways, sir!"

Trixy led Harry through the entrance hall of the manor. It had the usual: portraits, paintings, tasteful carpets, some less than tasteful decorations, a suit of armor here and there in the following hallway. A tad generic, perhaps, but Harry wasn't too judgemental. Until Voldemort began his campaign by making an example of his family, the Potters also had one of these.

Eventually they reached a relatively small room, with a few couches, bookcases and a roaring fireplace. It looked rather cozy, Harry had to admit, decorated in dark shades of red and brown.

He found Fabio and Karina Greengrass sitting there, the two of them occupying a couch. They rose as he came in and Trixy announced him. He thanked the elf before she popped away.

The two Greengrasses extended their hands and Harry shook them, exchanging polite greetings.

Fabio was not a particularly intimidating man. He was short, his grey hair was carefully maintained, and his beard was neatly trimmed. His dark eyes worked well with his impressive mustache to add weight to his gaze where his stature failed, however.

Karina still maintained the rich blonde hair-color of her youth, through nature or magic Harry could not tell. She was beautiful, of course. Harry had expected nothing less. He brought her fingers up to his lips, as was custom, with a respectful: "Madam Greengrass, it's a pleasure."

"Please join us, Head Auror. Would you like a drink? We were just enjoying a bit of White Dragoon before you arrived." Fabio asked, waving to an armchair next to the fire. Nearby was a stand with various expensive bottles on it. Harry shook his head as he took a seat.

"I'm not here in my official capacity so please, call me Harry. Or mister Potter, if you prefer. Also, no thanks, I'll be Apparating home later."

Fabio nodded. "I see."

"Pardon me, but where is Daphne? We had arranged to meet at this time."

"My daughter is upstairs in her room, preparing for your ... jaunt. We were hoping to have a word with you, before she came down."

Is that how it was going to be? Mister Greengrass was not being entirely truthful, though in their defense, they could not have known that Harry could sense Daphne, waiting two rooms over. Not many people had been trained to sense magic like he could. He opened his hands in an inviting gesture. "By all means."

Fabio's brow creased slightly. "Daphne explained your little … agreement, to us. I have to say, I do not like it. I want it to stop. I had not expected such lowly behavior from you, mister Potter."

His boldness caught Harry by surprise, who had expected a lot of talking around the subject, but he didn't show it. He raised an eyebrow. "Please, tell me what you _really_ think."

Karina put a hand on her husband's wrist, giving him a stern look before turning back to Harry. He absently noted that Daphne got her high cheekbones from her mother, as with most of her appearance except … her nose? That seemed to be all Fabio. The eyes, too. Gray and piercing.

"I apologise for my husband's forwardness, mister Potter. He is merely worried for our daughter, as I am."

Harry tipped his head. "No offense was taken, lady Greengrass. I can understand and respect the love of a parent, perhaps more than most. It's saved my life on several occasions."

"Then you understand our reservations with your arrangement, do you not?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't. In fact, I thought the two of you would be happy."

Fabio's eyes narrowed, and Karina let out a small exclamation of surprise.

" _Happy_ , mister Potter?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'm offering Daphne a way out. A relatively easy and painless one, too. After that, she'll be available to marry a groom of your choice. Because, and please excuse my boldness in assuming, this is what has you worried, is it not? That Daphne be available to advance your family's business through marriage?"

Fabio's face hardened, and Karina turned slightly red.

"You insult us, mister Potter, and you are a guest at our home."

"I meant no offense, and I apologise if any was taken. I was simply assuming, considering young Astoria's marriage to my old classmate, and the nature of the contract that you were eager to sign with my own parents. Tell me, mister and madam Greengrass, what has changed since that time? Why are you so opposed to the contract now?"

"Times, have changed, mister Potter. Lily, James, and Charlus, blessed be their memory, are no longer among us. The circumstances under which we signed no longer apply."

"I had a funny conversation with my lawyers the other day, mister Greengrass. Did you know that there's a muggle legal term under which a contract like this could be voided? Frustration, they called it. Unfortunate that our own systems do not cover for such an eventuality."

Fabio's jaw was firmly set. "I was indeed aware."

Harry assumed that mustn't have been a great feeling.

"Mister Potter," Karina began, her tone gentler. "Your mother and I were very good friends. She gave me a lot of support when I needed it, and I valued her very highly. Nothing would make me happier than seeing you and my daughter get along. That was what the two of us had been hoping. But this is not the way, mister Potter. This isn't how you should go about it."

Harry took a second to formulate his reply. "Lady Greengrass, I have nothing but respect and reverence for you and my mother and I would very much like it if you told me what you could of your days together someday. However, you'll have to forgive me if I don't see what you're taking this much offense to. I'm the one giving Daphne an out, something that will cost me a great deal. If I was the cruel person you try to paint me as, I would keep the contract, take Daphne and your business both, and it would be the most profitable endeavor of my life to date."

"You realize what will happen if we take this to the press?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What, exactly? Will you tell them that I'm upholding the legal contract you signed? Or will you try to explain a verbal agreement that is not actually written down or legally binding?"

"We have only our daughter's well-being in mind, mister Potter. Surely a man of your position can understand our concern when it comes to … agreements, of this nature."

"I do understand. Understand this, however, you have nothing to fear from me. I mean you no harm and hold no ill will."

Fabio's voice was strained, on the verge of aggression. "And yet you would demand my daughter as your prize? Your _escort_? Absolutely not! I refuse."

"Escort in the most innocent meaning of the word, mister Greengrass. Daphne need do nothing she doesn't want. I just want to hang out with her for a few evenings, and then she'll be free to be married to whoever the two of you deem suitable."

"What if 'hanging out' with you is what she does not want, mister Potter?"

"I'm afraid that's the one thing I will insist on. I like to think of myself as somewhat fun to be around. I think that, as far as sacrifices to keep your family's fortune in its own hands go, this is rather tame."

"As Head Auror, one meant to uphold law and justice, do you truly feel no shame, forcing such a choice upon her?"

Harry's eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised you don't see the hypocrisy in your statement. It's not my place to question your ways, but I didn't expect this reaction from people who marry their children to seal business deals."

Fabio's next look threw Harry a bit, though he was careful not to show it.

"You disappoint me, mister Potter."

Harry was quick to react, despite his surprise. "How so?"

"I had thought you different. From your work in the Ministry, I had thought you unbiased. Yet you judge with no understanding or proper context. You do not know our ways, you do not understand them, yet you firmly cling to the one facet of them and use it to try and prove your point. You repeat that to yourself, assuring yourself over and over that you are not in the wrong because of that one thing. Tell me, how are you any different from the blood purists you spent much of your life battling against?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. He closed it, feeling oddly uncomfortable. What Fabio was accusing him off was exactly the thing he'd swore not to do. He'd sworn to keep an open mind, to not just disregard something or someone out of hand based on unreliable information. Was this really what he was doing with the Greengrass family? Had he really been this self-assured that he'd miss the formation of such an outlook on himself?

He asserted his thoughts quickly. Fabio's accusations would have to be examined for legitimacy, but now was not the time. He couldn't afford to be introspective or doubt himself in front of them.

Karina began to speak, her tone softer than it was. "Mister Potter-"

"Pardon my rudeness," Harry interrupted her. He hadn't planned for this. He couldn't play this game right now. "But I think we've talked long enough. There's only one Greengrass that has my attention tonight, so if you could please signal Daphne to come inside, I'd appreciate it."

Their flinches were miniscule, but Harry's sharp eyes caught them.

"Daphne is-"

"I will spare you the embarrassment, mister Greengrass, and let you know that I can sense her, so whatever lie you're about to tell, reconsider."

Fabio closed his mouth and took a breath. "Fine."

Harry felt for him. For both of them, really. He didn't mean to come on so strong. He hadn't handled this as well as he should have. "If you wish to discuss things further, we can arrange some time, or you can make an appointment in my office. Just send me an owl."

"We will be having words, mister Potter, of that you can be sure."

Daphne chose that time to enter the room, coming in from a door on the far side and all troubled thoughts left his mind for a moment. For a second he simply stared before he caught himself.

The woman really didn't do anything by half-measures. She wore a dark blue dress. A rather conservative one, but no less impressive or alluring. It showed off smooth skin on her shoulders and neck. Looking at the way it fit around her curves, Harry was again reminded of the numbers required by his father on the contract and sent a small prayer for him in whatever afterlife he'd ended up in. Daphne's ensemble was completed by jewelry that Harry knew was enchanted, as well as forbiddingly expensive.

Daphne held a red coat in her arms, her hair caught in a single, long ponytail.

"Enough, Potter. We get the picture." She jerked her head towards the door he'd used coming in. "Let's get going."

Harry rose, offering his hand once more to be shaken. "Have a good evening, mister and lady Greengrass. We'll be in touch."

Fabio merely nodded, but Karina managed a slightly strained smile. "The two of you have fun."

They walked side by side through the walkway, awkwardly silent for a few seconds.

"Was that display really necessary, Potter?"

Harry could not let her understand just how much the two elder Greengrass had unnerved him. When he spoke, his tone was flippant. "Was it a bit much, do you think?"

Daphne gave him a look of mild distaste. "Overly dramatic and quite undignified, but I suppose it got your point across."

"You thought your parents would intimidate me?"

"I thought they would give you some much needed perspective. Having said that, alienating my parents is not at all a wise move, in your position."

"I wasn't trying to."

"You thought a show of force would dissuade them from attempting to circumvent you?"

"Basically, yeah. Do you think it'll work?"

"I think you underestimate both their reach, and the lengths my parents would go to. You also have a very poor grasp on how a suitor is supposed to behave."

' _Suitor_ '. Harry nearly snorted in amusement. Instead, he just shrugged. "I guess I'll have to rely on you putting in a good word for me when you get back- wait, did you just roll your eyes?"

"I did not."

"You did, I saw it!"

"Quit bothering me, Potter."

They both put their coats on before exiting the house going through the gardens on the way to the gates. That was when Harry finally got a better look at her. His eyebrows rose at the sight. Upon closer inspection, he noticed some details. The soft undertone of color around her eyes, the otherworldly, somewhat unnatural smoothness of her skin, the tantalizing view of her lips … well, perhaps that last one was completely natural.

And her clothes! The jacket appeared normal at first glance, if rather stylish, but a more careful look revealed the enchantments masterfully woven into the fabric. The commission of such a piece must have cost quite a penny. And also … were those unicorn hair linings?

"Is this your idea of casual, Daphne?"

She looked down at herself for one, unsure moment, then back up at him with affront.

"Pardon me? This is plenty casual."

"The sale of the shoes alone could feed a family of three for months."

Daphne adjusted her jacket and ran her hand through her ponytail, clearly agitated. "This is as casual as I get, Potter. Is it not good enough for you? Feel free to depart and leave me in peace. Need I remind you, I never wanted to be here in the first place."

Okay, the escalated a bit more than it should. "Relax, I'm just having you on."

She seemed to deflate a bit, her anger spent for the moment. When she spoke she sounded exasperated, if anything. "Well, perhaps you should instead consider following my example. You could do with an upgrade to your wardrobe."

Now it was Harry's turn to self-consciously glance down at himself. He'd been rather careful in his selection that day, after all. They might not reach her levels of expensive, but they weren't exactly rags, either.

"What's wrong with it?"

Daphne sniffed. It was rather impressive, Harry had to admit. She managed to make the sound with barely any movement, just a stiffening of her features that served to perfectly express her utter dismissal.

"It will do. For now."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all.

Harry coughed into his hand as they reached the outer gate, leaving the grounds of the manor.

"Are you hungry?"

"You are actually giving me a choice?"

"Will you stop that? You're not a slave, and I'm not treating you like one."

"Except for the part where you are forcing me to go along with this farce?"

Harry groaned, running his hand through his hair. "Come on, Daphne. It was a simple question."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and seemed to consider for a second or two. "I could eat."

Harry nodded, deciding on a destination. "Got your stasis charm in place?" he asked. While he'd find it rather funny if they arrived and Daphne's hair was frazzled, he didn't think Daphne would appreciate it quite like he did.

If her look was anything to go by, he needn't have worried.

"Of course. Where are we headed?"

"Have you ever been to Godric's Hollow?"

She shook her head. "We're going among _muggles_?"

"I'll have to side-along you, then. And don't worry, the place we're going to is magical. If I may?" He offered her his gloved hand, palm up. She offered him her gloved fingers, which he held ever so gently.

They Disapparated with a soft pop.

They appeared on the edge of the small town, displacing some snow but otherwise not disturbing anything.

Harry took a look around. Decked out in December snow, still faintly lit by the remnants of a sunset, Godric's Hollow looked quite scenic.

It was also very, _very_ cold. Harry rubbed his hands together before producing his holly wand in hand and casting a warming charm on himself.

"Want one?" he asked, tilting his wand her way.

"No, I do not. Comfort charms are layered in all my clothes. Shall we go?"

"Let's," he replied, offering her his arm. She looked at it for a moment, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed and Harry was sure she would refuse or say something distasteful. After a moment's consideration, however, she simply curled her arm around his without a scene or much fanfare, and together they started walking down the sidewalk, heading deeper into the village.

Okay. So far so good. Harry's spirits began to lift.

"I'm surprised you don't make use of them, yourself," Daphne remarked, and it took Harry a second to understand that she was referring to comfort charms. "Word of your charmwork has reached my ears."

"Yes, well, charmed clothes are a hazard in my line of work."

Daphne turned to look at him, surprised.

"One would think that enchanted clothing would have many defensive values."

Harry chuckled, and Daphne shifted just a bit to get more comfortable on his arm.

"Well, one would be wrong."

"How so? I know that, at the very least, your blood traitor friends had a rather successful series of products centered around this concept."

"Could you not call them that? And yes, the defensive line of the Wheezes was good, but it was very basic and limited in scope. Not to mention that while it did protect from basic hexes, the spells had to remain limited for the same reason the Auror office can't utilize enchanted clothing."

"And that reason would be?"

Harry gave a small grimace. "I don't want to get too technical here."

"Then simplify. I am certain that's not too hard for you."

Harry frowned. "I think I should be insulted? But okay, how about this. Enchantments do not mix well with curses. While you generally want to avoid being hit by them regardless, the reaction of high level curses with intricate enchantments is unpredictable and often rather volatile."

Daphne furrowed her brow. "But I know that static defensive magic is possible."

"Not the kind that can be woven into clothes, no."

"I suppose that is the sort of thing only Aurors would know."

"Good thing you asked _me_ , then. Now look sharp, we're here."

Despite how idyllic Godric's Hollow looked, few people braved the cold and snow at this hour. The roads were mostly empty while they walked. Thankfully, the destroyed Potter house wasn't on this side of the village.

Harry stopped walking in front of a two story building. the front of it was covered in glass that let out the yellow glow and soft hum of the music from inside, but were too hazy to actually see through.

They walked to the door and Harry opened it, letting Daphne in first before following and closing it behind him.

The Cold Peak was, ironically, a rather cozy, comfortable place. A family diner that doubled as a pub as the night progressed. It was bigger than the building would suggest from the outside but the restaurant part of it was separated in booths by wooden panel about three feet high, giving the impression of privacy while still keeping the rest of the area visible. It was tastefully decorated in shades of brown, keeping a few magical paintings and other assorted pieces of decor. Fireplaces lined the walls at various intervals and candles floated by themselves below the ceiling.

A man met them from inside the door, his outfit marking him as staff. He was young, and smiled when he saw Harry come in.

"Greetings, mister Potter."

"Hello Jerry. All good?"

"Certainly, sir. Table for two tonight?"

"Yes, please."

"Right this way." With a wave of his hand, Jerry led them to a spot further in, a bit more secluded than the rest. The chairs moved by themselves so that they could sit opposite each other on the small table. It was covered in red tablecloth, a curious choice, but it fit nicely with the rest of the ensemble.

They both removed their coats, but Harry took an appreciative second to look at Daphne before giving his coat to Jerry. Perhaps his own dress shirt and pants weren't as impressive by comparison, but Harry thought that he looked quite smart, if he could say so himself.

Daphne must have noticed his look, for she raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smirk. Rather than be embarrassed, Harry returned it with a smile of his own. "You look great," he told her.

"Thank you." With that, they took their seats.

"Will you be requiring menus?" Jerry asked, their coats already sent away with a flick of his wand.

"Yes, please."

Jerry snapped his fingers and a pair of menus appeared, hovering over their plates until they picked them up.

"Should I come back?" Jerry asked. Before Harry had a chance to answer, Daphne let out a sharp "No." Harry shrugged at Jerry, and the two of them watched the Greengrass heiress as she inspected the menu. It took nearly two minutes before she spoke again.

"Item … forty three, on your list. Was it grown or imported? Was it duplicated, by any chance?"

"Our chicken are imported from Spain. Nothing in our premises is duplicated, miss. You'll find your dish of the most excellent quality."

"I will be the judge of that." She closed her menu and handed it to the server.

"I'll have what she got. Bring us two glasses of red, would you? From my bottle?"

"Of course, mister Potter."

"Thanks Jerry." When the server left, Harry turned back to Daphne. "Are you a chicken person?"

She furrowed her brow. "Excuse me?"

"Is chicken your dish of preference?"

"It seemed like the least imbecilic choice on this menu."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "You don't like the place?"

Daphne shifted in her chair a little, her fingers intertwining. "It is beneath us, but I can see why one such as you would like it."

Harry didn't buy it. "Daphne…"

She looked at him like he'd stepped on her favorite pair of shoes, but did eventually relent. "It is not entirely unpleasant."

Perhaps that was the best Harry could have hoped for.

"Do I get points for that?"

"No."

Harry faked a noise of frustration. "You're a hard woman to please, Daphne."

The blonde smiled, the low lighting complimenting her fair skin nicely. "Naturally. You'll have to do better than this, in future."

"I can do better, though I think you shouldn't judge this place until we've left."

"There are worse places you could have taken me to, I'll grant you that. I had not expected Godric's Hollow at all, to be honest with you. What with what's here, I didn't think this would be a viable choice."

' _What's here_ '. Nice way of summing up the ruins of the Potter home, the burial grounds of his parents and the site where his life changed forever. Harry himself wasn't bothered, and in fact visited the village quite often, but the mention did serve to noticeably dampen the mood, bringing an awkward silence to bear.

"Well, that got a bit deep."

"I concur. Perhaps a change of subject is in order?"

"Sure. Let's see …" This was their first date. What could they talk about that wouldn't be too personal, and wouldn't bring their conflict of interests to the forefront? "Hm, how about … Hogwarts?"

She nodded with a small smile, dimples appearing on her cheeks. "As safe a topic as any, and I do have a lot to ask, since the opportunity presented itself."

"What do you remember from your first year?"

"First year?" Daphne furrowed her brow, thinking. "Not a lot. I was homesick and I would often get lost. The dungeons took quite a bit of getting used to. Not only was it cold down there, the corridors were also much more labyrinthine than the rest of the castle."

"I remember the Slytherin common room. Looked cozy, if a bit bleak. I preferred the Gryffindor one."

Daphne's eyes widened. "You have been to the Slytherin common room? When was this? How?"

Perhaps Harry should have kept this to himself. Still, it was satisfying to get a genuine reaction from her. Best not get carried away, regardless.

"Eh, sometime in second year. As for how … I think I'm not going to tell you that when I'm still not sure you won't use incriminating information to get me convicted."

She smirked at this. "My my. The ever noble Harry Potter, using illegal means to enter the Slytherin common room? How little the people actually know about you."

Harry grinned. "You have _no_ idea."

"What other illegal activities were you up to in first year?"

"Remember what I just said about incriminating information?"

"Come on, Potter. This is me giving you a chance to, as they say, chat me up. Humor me."

She drove a hard bargain. "There may or may not have been a dragon involved."

Daphne raised a perfect eyebrow. "So, Draco wasn't lying. Now this makes me wonder what else of his absurd tales about you was true."

"I don't know. Draco often knew more about what I was up to than most, but then he was also a dirty little lying ferret, so I wouldn't trust him when it comes to information."

"Ferret?" Daphne let out a rather unladylike giggle. "That reminds me, the day of his transformation was outright glorious. He never got to live what Professor Moody did to him down, and it curbed his pull in our House for the rest of the year. I never thanked you for that."

Too bad Professor Moody at the time was a rather crazy Barty Crouch jr, murderer, escaped convict and Death Eater. But perhaps talking about him would spoil the mood.

"You did mention that watching the two of us go at it was entertaining."

Jerry arrived in their booth, a wooden tray floating behind him. The dishes and the glasses floated off the tray and took their places in front of them, followed by the silverware. Harry thanked him and the server left.

The started eating, conversation dying out save for a few comments about the food. Daphne judged it 'edible' and they proceeded to chat a bit about the wine.

When their plates were mostly empty, Daphne revived the previous conversation. "Perhaps we could return to discussing acts that could get you convicted?"

Harry mock-frowned. "I think I'm sensing ulterior motives, here."

She twined her fingers under her chin, her eyes looking particularly piercing in the low lighting.

"Let's address the most disturbing of the rumors regarding you in our first year, shall we?"

"And that would be?"

"Did you really murder professor Quirrell?"

Harry's hand paused on its way to bringing his glass to his mouth. He gave Daphne a glare over his glasses.

"Is that really appropriate dinner conversation?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Indulge me."

"If you plan to grill me on every rumor that popped up during my Hogwarts years, we'll be here for _days_."

"We do have five days just so conveniently lined up."

"If you think I'll spend them addressing rumors from years ago and remembering events I'd rather forget, you're mistaken."

Daphne scowled. "Come now, Potter, don't get shy on me. You know I won't actually try to charge you. Magic knows, you're the Head Auror. It probably would not even make it to court."

"I think you underestimate the effectiveness of Kingsley's ministry."

"First name basis with the Minister, Potter?"

"We did sort of fight a war together. Why, I remember that one time-"

"No, Potter. You shan't change the subject that easily."

Harry let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. "Are you done with your food?"

Daphne's tone was exasperated and amused. "Potter-"

"Would you like to get drinks? I'll need something strong for this conversation."

She gave him a nod. "That is fine."

Harry rose, caught a server's attention and gave him a nod. Daphne also rose from her chair, and he led her deeper into the establishment. It was getting sort of late, but still early in the night. The bar wasn't empty but it didn't have too many people, either. Harry smiled and waved to some of them who offered greetings.

"These people know you." Daphne observed from his side as he led her to a pair of barstools on the far side.

"We're all regulars here. I like this place because the locals treat me like one of them, without bothering me."

"That must feel nice for you."

"It does."

They sat on their stools at the edge of the bar, Daphne on the furthest seat and Harry next to her. Harry greeted the barman by name, and they ordered their drinks.

A few seconds later, the drinks arrived. Harry's drink was clear, but Daphne's was a rather vivid light blue color, and he was pretty sure something was moving around inside the tall glass. She sipped once with practiced movements.

"So, will you tell me what happened?"

Harry tasted his drink, too. Strong, but not enough to cloud his mind quickly.

"The first thing you need to understand about the situation is that Professor Quirrell was doomed."

"How so?"

"He was housing Voldemort's spirit in his body, acting as a host since the summer previously where he'd encountered him in the forests of Albania. Nasty place, Albania. Went once, never want to again."

"Potter."

"Right, so," Harry paused to sip once more from his glass, before continuing. "The Professor had a rather Voldemort-shaped lump on the back of his head, and he was trying to help him regain his strength and come to life with various means. Even had they succeeded, though, the Professor would die. Voldemort leaving his body would kill him. Professor Quirrell was already dead, from the moment he accepted the wraith."

"Did his life end at your hands or not?"

Harry was momentarily struck speechless by the accidental accuracy of her phrasing, as somewhat hazy memories became clearer and clearer. He took another swig of his drink.

"As a law enforcement officer, I can tell you that what I did does not qualify as murder. But yes, I killed what was left of Professor Quirrell in self-defense."

Daphne's eyes were wide as she watched him, with the kind of fascination one devoted to an ongoing transfiguration experiment.

"I cannot imagine what that must have felt like to you, at eleven years of age."

Harry shrugged. "Believe it or not, I didn't think much about it. I'd stopped Voldemort, and that was all that mattered. It took years for me to consider that day as me taking another life."

Daphne was nodding along with his words, listening with rapt attention.

"You've taken more lives, in the interim between then and now?"

Harry nodded, lips in a firm line. " _His_ ," he said, and neither doubted who 'he' was. "As well as several in the line of duty. I'm not proud of it, but it is the reality of being an Auror and dealing with Dark Wizards and renegade Warlocks."

"I've always wondered … what does it feel like, to take another life? To deprive someone of the greatest gift? To know that someone's destiny was to meet you and go no further?"

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly rather uncomfortable. His drink tasted bitter as it went down his throat.

"I don't believe in destiny. I also don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

There was vicious mirth in her eyes and a smile on her face. Rather than make her prettier, Harry thought that it made her look cruel. "But, Potter-"

"Please, Daphne," he cut her off. "No more of this. You promised."

She seemed about to argue, but something in his expression must have convinced her otherwise. Slowly, the dangerous shine in her eyes and the subtle glee in her expression vanished, to be replaced with annoyance and resignation.

"Fine, Potter. I'm sure you would have said something suitably lecturing and boring, regardless."

Harry forced a smile. She didn't know him at all. "You know me too well."

"What shall we talk about, then?"

Harry rested his right elbow on the counter, turning his body to look at her more easily. "I think we've talked enough about me for now. I want to know more about _you_."

She raised an eyebrow. "What would you like to know?"

Harry rubbed his chin for a second, thinking. "Tell me about what you do," he said after a few seconds. "Running PR for your father's business. Mingling with people. How does that work? What exactly do you do?"

She raised an eyebrow again. "Public relations is far from my only obligation, Potter. You might not know, but Father has as of late limited the scope of his responsibilities, placing more and more of the excess unto me. I am being groomed to succeed him."

"Huh. I knew that Fabio was having less of a presence lately, but I didn't know about this. I'm happy for you. You seem like a competent person. No doubt you'll bring your business far."

His compliment seemed to have an effect on her, judging by her smile or the rosiness of her cheeks, though that might have been from the second drink she was making good progress with.

"To return to your original question, it is important that the Greengrass maintain a presence among the right circles. Those parties that you so avidly avoid are the places where the people who matter gather and real transactions take place, where _real_ relationships are formed."

Harry snorted. "I'd argue that none of that matters, since none of that is sincere. I'd hardly call anything going on over there 'real'. Deception upon deception, and the slightest hint of honesty is ruthlessly exploited."

"Ah, but do you not see the beauty is such a primal state of existence, disguised as civilization? The strong prey on the weak, just as it has always been. The game itself has not changed, only the means by which we play it."

"I have no wish to participate in such a game."

Daphne smiled, a knowing, mocking smile that, truth be told, unsettled him a little.

"But you will have to, Potter. Already, you are drawn more and more towards it. Your ambitions, noble as they are, will force your hand. You can either swim with the current, or fight it and drown."

Harry shrugged again. "I fancy myself rather good at swimming. The metaphorical swimming, not the actual act. I'm not very good at that."

"So says winner of the second Task of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Oh, you know. Performance enhancers. My victory came from a root. Rather disgusting one, at that."

"You are braver than I thought to have put Gillyweed in your mouth, I will admit that much." She looked down, lightly tapping her fingernails on the counter. "I need another drink." She turned towards the barman, getting his attention with a sharp wrist movement.

Eventually, Harry put down his -now empty- third glass. His wand materialized on his right hand and with an idle flick, the time appeared in numbers formed of wispy smoke. Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. He hadn't noticed the quick passage of time, due to no small amount to Daphne having such interesting stories to share about many of his Ministry coworkers.

"It's getting late," he said. "I'm loathe to end our night together, but perhaps I should not push my luck when it comes to your parents. Are you about ready to go?"

She seemed a tad confused for a few seconds, but still gave him a nod of consent. They rose and Harry left a few coins at the bar, enough to cover both the meal and the drinks.

"There's one more thing to be said before we part, Potter."

Harry turned to her as they collected their coats, giving her a questioning glance.

"It is not your place to judge my parents. You do not have that right. I can see it in you, though you do not show it. You meant what you said to them earlier. You judge their actions and find them immoral. You are wrong, and I want you to stop."

Harry blinked in surprise. That came a little out of the blue. "I thought that you of all people would be angry with them."

"I am," she said. "Of course I am. No one likes being treated as a bargaining chip, Potter. But I accept that. I was raised like that. So was my mother, so was my father and my sister, and so will my own children one day. I may be angry at them, but I understand them. If the situation were different, if the contract was still suitably applicable, I would have done my duty and married you, for the sake of the Greengrass family."

Harry scoffed as he put on his coat. "Well, thanks for making that sound like such a huge sacrifice."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Bah, you know what it is that I meant."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I do. And I get what you mean. I'll try not to be judgmental. I'm making a serious effort not to judge things that I don't understand."

Or at least, he'd thought that he was until today. Inwardly Harry frowned, remembering the conversation with Fabio.

They were outside now, and once again with linked arms as they walked to the edge of the town, their steps leaving deep footprints in the snow.

Daphne shook her head. "It is no mere profit that guides our ways, Potter."

"Fair enough. Poor choice of words. In my defense, being ethically compared to my friends' murderers is not a great feeling."

Daphne did grimace at that. "Perhaps that, too, was an example of poor phrasing."

Harry shook his head. "I'm really not much for debate right now. That drink was a bit stronger than I'd hoped."

"Are you still capable of Apparating us, or should I do it?"

He frowned. "I haven't had that much. And I saw what you were drinking. That concoction was stronger than mine, I'm not letting you Apparate right now."

"Suit yourself, Potter."

They soon reached the edge, and approached the small range of trees in which they arrived, earlier.

Still with linked arms, Harry cast a revealing spell, but it came up empty, meaning that there was no one nearby, nor were they being watched by any means.

"Ready?"

At her nod he Disapparated, taking her with him in a Side-Along.

They appeared outside the Greengrass gates with a pop. Upon arrival, Daphne patted her coat, before checking her hair. Then she turned to face him.

"Your Apparition is quite smooth, Potter. My commendations."

He chuckled. "You sound surprised."

"It is not a skill often witnessed in people as young as you."

"We're the same age."

"My proficiency in the art is not at that level, hence my surprise."

Harry suspected that she was rather more inebriated than she let on. He doubted that the same woman who had burst into his office would express herself like this without quite a bit of help. "Okay, now I know you're just buttering me up. You're not getting a goodnight kiss, if that's your angle."

Okay, perhaps he'd had a bit too much as well.

She snorted. "I assure you, it is not. At the same time, you do not have to act surprised whenever I acknowledge some aspect of your skills."

He was impressed that she could still articulate to this degree. "Stop it, you're making me blush."

She smiled. "Were that it was indeed me, instead of the cold. Perhaps you should reconsider charming your clothes?"

"Perhaps _you_ should consider going inside, before your parents come out here to figure out what's taking you so long."

That seemed to sap her mirth, her smile fading, replaced by a contemplative expression. She let go of his arm, taking a couple steps away.

Harry watched with curiosity as her lips pursed and her brow furrowed.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'll send you an owl for our next date."

She tilted her head to the side, just so. "Or you could, you know … not."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her phrasing. "I'll send you an owl. Goodnight, Daphne. I had a great time tonight."

"Goodnight, Potter."

She gave him a small nod, expression still curiously stiff, before she turned and walked through the gate. Harry watched her go, until darkness claimed her and he couldn't make her out any longer.

He took a second, beginning to process all that had happened and all that he had learned, but then decided that such was best done from the comfort of his apartment that standing out here in the cold.

With a thought, he Disapparated.

 **~TMC~**


	3. Step 2: Offensive Action

Many thanks to Oment over on DLP for being a most skilled beta-reader and helping me edit and tweak this chapter as necessary. Also to the rest of the folks over on DLP who helped, you know who you are. Thank you.

* * *

 **~TMC~**

 **Step 2: Offensive Action**

 **~TMC~**

* * *

The next day, Harry participated in a rather daring raid that saw to the dismantlement of a smuggling ring of addictive, dangerous potions. The smugglers, part of an international criminal organization, did not just lay down their wands and surrender, despite being caught by surprise.

The raid had been in the works for some time and while Harry had trusted subordinates and full confidence in his well-trained Aurors to handle the situation without his direct interference, participating was just what he needed to clear his head.

Harry Potter was a man of action. He was most effective when he didn't have time to think. He'd taken to Auror training and duties like a fish to water and excelled beyond even the hefty expectations people had due to his reputation and past deeds. His meteoric rise through the ranks saw more and more responsibility thrown his way, riskier and riskier missions, assignments of ever increasing confidentiality and danger.

That is, until he became Head Auror. Then he was the one doing the assigning, and the number of dangerous situations he found himself in was drastically reduced and the most danger he found himself in was the prospect of getting arrested after dealing with ministry officials of other departments for too long, inevitably leading to his desire to hex them.

He was no adrenaline junkie, but there was a simplicity and beauty in a fight for one's life, driven by a cause and yes, the adrenaline rush helped a lot. He missed his active days, but advancement was integral to his long-term plan, so he'd wasted not a second in accepting the position.

There were some cases -like this one, for example- where participating in field operations helped put some things in perspective and at the same time distract him. Nothing like exterminating a group of Dark Wizards flinging Killing Curses around to paint one's everyday worries in a superficial light.

The raid was over by noon. The rest of the working hours were spent dealing with the prisoners, emptying their base and cataloguing everything, followed by never-ending streams of paperwork. Reports from all participating Aurors had to be examined, as well as the separately filed reports from the Artefact Handling teams and the Substances Destruction team loaned from St Mungo's.

After that, Harry had to be present for a press conference regarding the event. Back in his Auror days he'd waste no time skipping this part, but considering the fact that the Head Auror was supposed to present these conferences, that was no longer an option.

By the time he was finished with everything regarding the Ministry for the day, evening had already come. He spent a few minutes locked in his office, enjoying a stiff drink while basically melting in his chair.

A quick thought and a wave of his wand manifested Prongs in his office, before the white spectre of condensed positive emotion left, carrying his message. Not five minutes later, a luminous, if rather small, terrier phased into his office, delivering the reply.

Harry let out a sigh of relief as the small dog dissolved. He emptied his glass with one long draw, before an idle flick of his wand replaced everything in the cabinet. He rose, grabbed his coat, and left the Department, waving goodbye at various people along the way.

As soon as he was clear of the Atrium he threw a warming charm on himself and Disapparated away, appearing once again in Godric's Hollow. Rather than Apparate outside the village and take the scenic route, however, he arrived just outside the Cold Peak's door.

He nodded to the waiter by the door and headed deeper, bypassing the restaurant entirely, going straight to the bar. He found his destination, a table with three stools, two of which were occupied, and took a seat on the empty one.

"Took you long enough," the man on his left said as Harry shrugged off his coat.

"Piss off Ron," Harry grumbled, looking at the barman, a tall blond man in his fifties. He gave him a nod in return. "I was busy."

"We caught the tail end of your speech on the wireless," the man to his right said with a smile. Harry turned to him. Broad shoulders, short dark hair, an easy smile given a darker edge by a long, serrated cut running from his right cheek, across his lips and down his chin.

Harry blinked upon seeing it. "Bloody hell Neville, this one's new. How'd you manage that?"

The Longbottom chuckled. "The Amazon is a nice place for research, but I wouldn't want to live there."

"What was it?"

Neville shrugged. "You can read about it in my paper, comes out next month. I'm tired of talking about it, honestly. I swear, scouring the jungle was easier than putting the blasted papers together."

"For fuck's sake mate. To think your end goal is to become a Herbology professor."

"Don't mean I can't leave my mark though, does it?"

"Guess not. Though I have to say, so far it rather seems like _it_ is leaving its mark on _you_."

Harry's beer arrived at this time on a floating disk. Harry picked it up and toasted the barman who, upon seeing the gesture, raised his own glass of some clear liquid.

Harry turned to his two friends, who raised their own drinks. They toasted and drank. Harry let out a sigh of relief after setting his glass down. A cold one was just what he needed. Magical beer had many brands, and was generally stronger than butterbeer but several magnitudes below the likes of firewhiskey.

"How're things at home?" He asked Ron. His friend grimaced.

"I love Hermione, but the baby's messing with her head already. We almost fought when I was about to leave. I'll probably have to cut down on outings for next week, just to keep her happy."

Neville snorted. "Sucks to be you, mate."

Ron didn't seem particularly unhappy. "I'm not complaining too much. Her mood swings have unexpected side effects. We haven't been this busy in quite a while."

"Stop it right there," Harry said with a mock glare. "I have no desire to hear what you and Hermione get up to at night."

Ron grinned at him. "Jealous much, mate?"

"I might just swing by and take her off your hands, if that's how it is."

Neville cut off Ron's reply, speaking before the ginger could. "Speaking of stuff we get up to at night, George was just telling us what you were up to yesterday."

Harry raised his eyes, casting them back towards the barman.

"He was, was he?" As if sensing his gaze, the man turned and gave him a cheeky wave. Harry shook his head. "What did he say?"

"Don't be a sourpuss, he wouldn't have had to say anything if you'd been on time to say it yourself."

"Told you, I was busy. What did George say?"

"Just that you were here last night," Neville said over his drink. "And that you weren't alone. Said you'd brought one of the prettiest birds he'd ever laid eyes on in with you. Who was she?"

"Daphne Greengrass."

Neville choked on his drink, sputtering for a couple of seconds. Harry's smile widened.

"Oy, you twat," Ron exclaimed, wiping away Neville's beer from his sleeve. The Longbottom ignored him.

"Greengrass? _The_ Daphne Greengrass?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know she warranted distinction from all the _other_ Daphne Greengrasses out there."

Neville shrugged, not quite capable of hiding his slight flush. "Just, y'know. People talk. Damn, no wonder George made a special note of yesterday. Daphne is top tier. How'd the two of you end up dating, anyhow?"

"Ron didn't tell you?"

The Weasley shook his head. Harry wasn't sure if Ron would have told Neville. He wouldn't have minded, as Neville had his full confidence, but it was still nice to see that Ron left that choice up to him.

So Harry told him. He gave Neville a short summary of the last few weeks and his legal interactions with the Greengrass family, leaving out details and a few select facts; which included his father's contribution to the terms.

When he was done, Neville let out a long whistle. "And I thought me getting back with Hannah was news."

"You got back with Hannah?"

"Three days ago but no way are we talking about that right now. Shite man, never a dull moment around you, is there? You always have to do things so dramatically?"

"What can I say, it's a gift."

"Screw that," Ron interjected, pointing a finger at Harry. "I want to know how far the two of you got last night."

"Ron-"

"Because if you managed to score with Greengrass on the first bloody date, I promise you-"

"Ron!" Harry cut him off, stopping the ginger mid-sentence. "I didn't. That's not how it works with someone like her."

Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Harry's discomfort. "Oh? The great Harry Potter finally discovered a pair of panties not willing to just drop for him by themselves?"

Neville chose to interject rather than let Harry respond. "I suppose that basically forcing her into dating him isn't going to endear her into touching his dick."

"Would the both of you shut up?" Harry said with a groan.

Ron ignored him, directing a questioning look at Neville. "Couldn't he just order her to bed him though?"

"Hum," Neville made a show of scratching his stubbled chin in consideration. "Maybe, but then again there's not much challenge for mister big-shot in that, is there? Plus, I'm not sure if the contract would enable him to order her so directly before the actual marriage ceremony."

"It doesn't, as far as I know," Harry said, latching onto the first sane thing he'd heard from those two.

Neville turned a grin his way. "Well, you could always-"

"I have no intention of finding out, Neville. Not sure I'd survive it, honestly."

"Her reaction to your proposition, or the sex itself?"

Harry glared at Ron. "Would you stop taking the piss?"

"Easy there, mate. We're just having you on, you know that."

Harry nodded. "It's just … not like that, alright? Yes, Greengrass is smoking, but there are other sexy women out there."

At their dubious glances, Harry clarified. "Perhaps not to the _same degree_ ," he allowed, "But still. You get what I mean."

"Then why?" Neville asked, and his expression showed that he was genuinely curious. Harry stared at him blankly for a few seconds, before simply shrugging his shoulders.

"Now that," Neville said, pointing his glass towards Harry, "I don't buy for one second."

Harry snorted again and turned a deadpan look at Ron to his left. The ginger raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me. I'm with him."

"Well aren't the both of you just the funniest?"

"You mark my words," Neville said, aiming an accusatory finger in Harry's general direction. "This has something to do with that stupid plan of his."

Harry scowled. "Don't call my plan stupid."

"Mate, we've heard that blasted plan a dozen times over," Ron pointed out at Neville. "There was no mention of the Greengrasses anywhere in there. Far as I know, he didn't know about this business until recently."

Neville shrugged. "Plans can be altered. Can't they, Harry?"

"I have no idea what you mean, but if you insult my plan again I'll invite you over to the training chambers and see just how effectively the Amazon is keeping you on your toes."

"You ain't got nothing on magic resistant, twenty-foot long Anacondas, Harry."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He _had_ kinda sorta killed the king of all serpents when he was twelve. "Care for a wager?"

"Ladies, ladies please," Ron said, "let us not allow Neville's posturing and Harry's bragging to distract us."

"Oy."

"You prick."

"And instead," Ron continued, ignoring them. "Let us once again focus on the matter at hand."

"That being?"

"Whether Harry will manage to get into Greengrass' pants, of course."

"Ron, I swear to god-"

"I'll take you up on that," Neville said.

"Care you to put your money where your mouth is, Nev?"

"Ten galleons says Daphne blue-balls him."

Ron snorted. "That's an easy bet, Neville. I'll take it. I think you really underestimate dear Harry."

"I dunno Ron, Greengrass doesn't seem easily impressed by fame or quick wandwork. She sees plenty of both around her social circles. Take those away from wonder-boy here, what's left? Harry has his work cut out for him, I reckon."

"Guys, I'm standing _right_ here."

"Oh," Ron said, pretending to be surprised upon seeing him. "Right. Since you're here, get us another round, would you?"

"Only if you agree to stop being such gigantic prats."

"I make no guarantees."

Harry glared at him, but he did signal George to send a trio of beers their way. Once three bottles floated their way and they'd spent a few seconds focused on them, Harry turned his attention back to the other two.

"If you two children are quite done, perhaps we can talk about something constructive."

"Such as?"

Harry looked at Neville. "Do you know anything about her?"

If Neville was surprised at his question, he didn't show it. He drank from his bottle.

"Well, I've not really seen her since the Battle. Not even in the ministry so no, not really. Although … no, I don't see how that'd be relevant."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Judging by the other man's expression, what he had to say would be, if not useful, then at the very least hilarious.

"Anything at all would help. It's an unusual situation, so you never know what bit of trivia might prove useful."

"Is that what you're teaching Auror trainees?"

"Yes, now speak."

Neville scratched the back of his head, stalling for time, no doubt trying to find the least embarrassing phrasing to what he wanted to say.

"Well, I only really noticed her in sixth year, and only gave her any real thought in seventh."

"Go on."

"As I said, I don't see how that's relevant, but … well, it has to do with Colin Creevey."

All three took a moment to raise their bottles to their fallen friend, comrade and hero, drinking deeply, before Neville continued.

"One of his photos of her was quite entertaining."

"How so?"

"Well, I don't know how he did it, but he somehow managed to get a photo of her as she was taking off her robe in a locker room. She wore quite the fetching red bra underneath."

Harry's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Really?"

"Yes. A deep, vivid red color. The photo didn't manage to catch her panties, but I bet you anything that-"

"Shut up," Harry cut him off, brow furrowed in annoyance. "That's not what I'm talking about. Did Collin really manage to get a photo like that?"

Neville looked a bit sheepish at this. "Well, the photo does end with Greengrass turning around and shooting a rather nasty-looking purple hex his way. He spent almost a full week healing from whatever it was she did to him. Still, I say it was worth it. Nothing quite like that to make you feel better after a session with the Carrows. Good thing he charmed the camera to retain the photos even after destruction. Apparently, a lot of people took to hexing or destroying the camera while he was using it. Go figure, right?"

"Blessed be his memory," Ron said, "but Collin's collection of photos became more and more bizarre the older he got. Going through it before giving it to his parents was a good idea. Some of the stuff in there … is probably better left unmentioned."

"Is the photo still in circulation?"

Neville shook his head. "No copies were made. I hid it behind a charmed wall in Gryffindor tower with a small inscription for enterprising future generations to find. I'll understand if you'll want to retrieve it."

Harry nodded, as of yet unsure of whether he'd retrieve the photo or not. It was an interesting quandary, certainly.

Regardless, while this was interesting and sort of hilarious, it did birth a new line of questioning in Harry's mind.

"What else can you remember about her? From seventh year, I mean. Obviously, Ron and I can't offer much insight there."

Neville hummed, scratching his chin again and squinting slightly, doing his best to remember details from those days of fierce but costly resistance.

"Slytherin house was … divided. The older years were pretty much Death Eater central, while the lower years were either waiting for their chance at the same or keeping their heads down. In hindsight, they were probably terrified."

Harry nodded along, already aware of much of what he missed at Hogwarts during his absence, the situation in Slytherin included. The Carrows favored all who openly supported them, but unlike Snape, weren't averse to disciplining any Slytherin that didn't do exactly what they expected of him.

"Then, there were people like Daphne," Neville continued. He seemed unsure of what to say, dissatisfied with his word choice but unable to find anything better. "Few and far between, but they existed and we took notice of them. Greengrass did stick closer to Malfoy and his ilk, but I suspect it was to protect herself from the Carrows, as she'd never seemed particularly fond of him before. Davis probably vouched for her, too, and with her relationship to Malfoy, Daphne was relatively safe even though she pretty much refused to act like a Death Eater in training. She was never directly cruel to anyone unless ordered to. Well, no more than she used to be before seventh year, at least. She still knew some hexes that she was pretty quick to fling around if anyone bothered her."

Neville took a few seconds to wet his throat and reorganize his thoughts. Neither Harry nor Ron said anything, giving him his time.

"It was sorta nice, you know?" he eventually said. "That was the closest any Slytherin could come to resisting Snape's regime. She couldn't defy him or the Carrows openly, but her and a couple other Slytherin showed us that even if they were still pricks, at least they weren't taking advantage of the situation."

"That does sound nice," Ron noted.

"Of course," Neville said, tone lightening quite a bit "it's just as likely that she just could not be fucked to change her behavior or lifestyle, regardless of silly things like coups or complete changes in power structure."

All three chuckled at that. It sounded improbable, but it also sounded just like the sort of thing a person like Daphne would do, to ignore everything that didn't directly affect them, or simply not care. Harry doubted it was so, but it was a funny thought regardless.

They drank for a bit in silence, their bottles quickly emptying.

Now came the thousand galleon question. "So, what do you think?" Harry asked, looking directly at Neville. "Ron has already given me his opinion. What about you?"

"Eh," Neville exclaimed with a grimace. He emptied his bottle in one long draw before giving his answer.

"Honestly?" he said, receiving a nod. "I think you're being a bit of a dick."

Harry blinked. Once, twice. "A bit of a dick?" he repeated.

"Fine. _Quite_ the dick, but I wanted to spare your feelings."

"Why-"

"Hold on!" Ron interrupted them, holding an extended finger in front of each of them. Harry and Neville turned questioning eyes to him. "We need another round for this conversation. Oy, George!"

The barman's voice reached them. "Coming right up!" Soon, their bottles were exchanged for new ones.

"Why do you say that?" Harry repeated his question, brow furrowed.

Neville threw him a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher.

"You can't tell that you're being a dick because you're not a dick."

Harry took a quick look at Ron, but the ginger's penetrative stare wasn't of any particular help. "I don't follow, Nev."

"You're not a dick by nature, so when you make yourself act in a way that's dickish, you don't realize it."

"That seems quite a bit farfetched."

Neville leaned backwards on his stool, cracking his back.

"All I'm saying is that I wouldn't have expected you to force anyone to do anything for shits and giggles. Not unless you had a reason. Which I why I believe you've made new additions to your plans. It's the only explanation I can give."

Harry shook his head. "I just … wanted to do something, you know? Shake things up. Do something different and see where it got me."

Neville opened his hands in a show of backing off. "Maybe," he said "but you never used to do that at the expense of others. So, either something about you has changed, or you're planning something. Or both."

Harry looked down at his drink, thoughts racing. He spent a minute looking for something to say while the three sipped their beers.

In the end, he said nothing.

 **~TMC~**

Harry spent most of the next day in his office. The work of Head Auror rarely ended. If he wanted, there were always older cases of lesser priority that he could look into, even if the immediate concerns were dealt with. He used the opportunity of mostly mindless paperwork to sort through his thoughts and take stock of the situation so far. His Aurors and secretaries, perhaps cognizant of his dark mood, left him alone as much as they could.

He'd not been sure his actions with regards to the Greengrasses from the beginning, that was sort of the point of this endeavor. To grab a questionable opportunity and see where it might lead. But even so, when he'd made the decision he was at least certain that he wasn't being unfair.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

When he was originally presented with the contract, it seemed like marriage to Daphne was inevitable. His temper would, should, have flared over it, but he was presented with feasible options before that could happen. Given the choice, he still ended up keeping the contract, but would he have thought the same way if it weren't his choice? He didn't think so.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it?

The conversation he had with Fabio Greengrass played itself again and again inside his mind, requiring no pensieve. The comparison to the Death Eaters he dismissed outright. The differences between them, their ideology and means of conduct were too different for any realistic comparison to be made.

Yet, some of it rang true. The pureblood supremacist movement, radical or no, was dismissive, even aggressive, towards a group they neither knew nor understood, using separate examples to justify their beliefs. In theory, that was indeed similar to what Fabio was accusing Harry of doing.

But was Fabio right? Harry didn't know.

He was aware his knowledge of the wizarding world, its ins and outs, was improving, but not perfect, or even adequate by pureblood standards. At least it was a damn sight better than just after killing Voldemort. He barely knew anything back then. All he really knew was that it was not his place to judge a culture that he'd made little effort to understand. He wasn't qualified and even if he was, that was too important a decision to be left to only one man.

After the war had ended, Harry had been merciful; understanding. Many had looked to him to pass judgment on the purebloods and the rest of the species that formed the Dark Army, even when he should have had no authority to do so. There was a period, however small, after the Battle, where his word carried more weight than the collective authority of the recently re-established Ministry of Magic. He could have used that opportunity to affect great change, in any direction he wanted. He didn't take it.

He'd made efforts since then, especially since joining the Ministry, to understand purebloods and their customs better. Now, he could understand their way of thinking to a degree and even calculate their next moves in a pinch. However, recent events had made him painfully aware that even if he could predict what a pureblood would do based on past experiences, that didn't mean he truly understood them, how they thought or their way of life.

Perhaps he hadn't wanted to understand. The vast majority of exposure to pureblood behavior and customs that he'd experienced until well into adulthood had been negative. He knew decent purebloods, but none of them were believers in blood purity. Ron wasn't, Neville wasn't, Susan wasn't, and all were members of some of Britain's oldest families, not to mention other pureblooded acquaintances or colleagues.

Every single time a person had shown signs of believing in the purity of blood, Harry had ended up at odds with them in degrees varying from 'unpleasant conversation' to 'deadly curses being thrown around'. Was his wariness with pureblood customs perhaps not understandable?

Perhaps that was another crucial point. He knew that this was one of his biases; one that he had lost sight and knowledge of. He'd been so convinced that he was open-minded, that he missed the few cases where he wasn't. Neville's words came to mind. Harry was proud of not being judgmental based on things outside of one's control. He'd made a name for himself in the ministry for his fairness against everyone. He trusted in his open mind, creating a blind spot towards his bias.

Fabio was right in that, but did that also validate the rest of his accusations? Harry didn't think so. No matter how the elder Greengrass tried to spin things, the marriage contract was a simple concept. The union of two people to ascertain the longevity of a deal between two families, often without the consent of the active participants who were treated like cattle.

No, Harry could not make himself regret judging this particular custom as barbaric.

Echoing Hermione in this manner did make him inwardly wince and gave his thoughts pause. Perhaps he had to backtrack some more. Pureblood children were raised steeped in tradition, he knew that. Such a thing as being married to another important family was expected, he also knew. For them, that was how the world worked. Who was he to judge that?

Did he really have the right to say 'I know better than you how the world should work, and this isn't how things are supposed to happen'? No, probably not. Yet, did human culture not progress with time, shedding unnecessary or needlessly cruel customs? The marriage contract itself was on the verge of falling completely out of fashion. Surely that was a sign that Harry was right?

How could people so readily defend the stripping of another person's freedom of choice?

Harry paused in his musings, face forming into another grimace as the hypocrisy of that thought registered. He rubbed his forehead.

When he originally formed the idea of getting Daphne to go out with him in such a manner, he hadn't really stopped to explain his thoughts overmuch, even to himself. He had felt he was doing her a kindness. No one could have really faulted him if he'd simply gone with the contract. Few people in his position would have refused. The Greengrass fortune was not immaterial, and their influence even less so. Having their resources and future at his fingertips for virtually no cost was not something any reasonable person with at least moderate ambition would pass up. For someone in his position, with his aspirations, declining the contract was pure madness. If anything, he should have wished for something like this to happen, and thanked his lucky stars when it did.

True, he had robbed Daphne of her freedom to choose by offering her only an alternative she'd never go for, but he had justified it to himself by reasoning that he was basically doing Daphne a huge favor at great expense to himself, requiring only a few hours of her time in return. A paltry price for such a loss on Harry's behalf.

Then again, if he could accept his own justification for forcing Daphne's hand, why should he not accept the justification of the pureblood families? Axioms like 'It's for the good of the family' or 'For the family's benefit' were commonplace in pureblood dealings. Individual sacrifices so that the whole would prosper were part and parcel, and the contract his parents had signed had been originally created under this philosophy.

Only, the contract no longer worked that way for the Greengrass family. Their family would get nothing out of it. They would not prosper from Daphne's sacrifice; the furthering of the family's wealth and influence originally envisioned now invalidated by time. She would be giving herself up, gaining nothing for her family, instead just removing herself from a position where she could be of help. That must be quite the bitter pill to swallow for someone as firmly behind the idea of family loyalty as Daphne.

Harry shook his head. None of that would have happened if he had chosen to outright void the contract.

Should he sign the contract, yes, he'd benefit from them, tremendously so. However, he'd never simply take everything from them, leaving his new wife's family to rot and forcing her to live the rest of her life in despair and hatred. That was far too cruel for his tastes. He would have kept the Greengrass family in good standing, and used their resources both to further his own goals and to propel the family itself to greater heights.

They didn't know that, though. And they had no reason to trust his claims of wanting to do that. He'd not endeared himself to them at all, forcing their hand, forcing their daughter to go out with him.

And really, who was he to say that their justification for taking away Daphne's freedom was worse than his own? Especially when Daphne -and people like her- accepted and embraced that reasoning themselves. Why was he allowed to judge what was an acceptable reason for the removal of personal choice and what wasn't?

At this, he recognized his thoughts and reasoning were going in circles. Giving up for the day, he went home, not feeling in the mood for an outing of any sort. Besides, he hadn't yet prepared for another date.

The next day, he felt a little more like himself, even though he was still in deep contemplation. He spent some time with Ron and Hermione and he had dinner with them, but they didn't speak much. Perhaps sensing his pensive mood, perhaps seeing his troubled frown, they respected him and gave him space and time to think.

After dinner with his two friends he returned to his office, though most of today's work was finished. He poured himself a drink and fell back into his chair, idly spinning his wand in hand in the way he used to when he was distracted.

Neville had been right. He'd been a dick to Daphne. Even if he gave her the best five dates of her life, the fact still remained that he had to threaten her with legal enslavement to get her to do it. He'd threatened people with legal action in the past and would do so again if need be, but that was work, and this was a private matter. In taking away Daphne's choice like that, he was no better, if not outright worse, than her family. If he accepted his own justifications for doing so, he should accept theirs.

Perhaps, if he'd taken a more conventional route towards asking someone on a date, Daphne would have agreed regardless. He would never know, now.

What was he to do now? Cut his losses, apologise to Daphne, void the contract, never bother her again? Not void the contract at all? Surely, either option would be easier, and probably more preferable, than this limbo. If he chose to outright void it, the Greengrass were happy. If he opted against voiding it, they would understand him, he suspected. Their business background would shine through.

Perhaps playing with their daughter's life and feelings left a more bitter taste in their mouths than simply taking her away.

The idea of just backing out now, after already fighting both Daphne and her parents over it and already having gone on one date and having planned for the second, did not seem very appealing. It wasn't about his plans: though this was attractive and potentially supremely helpful for them, they could be rewritten. It was about Daphne.

The first date had gone great. Harry could see that Daphne had been true to her word and tried to be open-minded about him, or at least pretend to. He hadn't missed her attempts at ruining his mood, but those had stopped relatively soon. All in all, the first date had gone as close to a best case scenario as he could have realistically hoped for. Considering that it had been meant as reconnaissance, that was a success in Harry's mind.

Moreover, he believed that both he and Daphne could learn a lot from each other. He shouldn't pass up this opportunity. Seeing things through was probably the best course of action. He'd get at least part of the assistance he required, Daphne would be free to go after the fifth date, and perhaps he'd even find what he told his friends he was looking for along the way.

He'd find a way to make it up to her for the underhanded way he went about setting this up. Doing so without landing himself in St. Mungo's was the trick.

The timing of his epiphany was great, as he had just finished his train of thought when a paper airplane flew into his office. It was late in the evening so most departments had either closed down or were about to, but it wasn't that late that this was unusual.

The plane fell on his open, waiting palm. It merely read 'Lean closer'. Harry knew what to do, and brought the unfolded paper to his ear. A hushed message played from his contact, one he listened to with rapt attention. The response had been swift, but then again Harry had full confidence in his allies.

When the message was finished, a grin formed on Harry's lips. Perfect timing.

"Radley," he called out, his voice tinged with just enough magic to go through the silencing charm and reach his secretary. The young man poked his head in, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

"Sir?"

"You've taken courses on writing formal writing conduct, yes?"

"I-, yes. I mean, yes sir."

"That includes formal invitations?"

"Yes."

"Great, I want you to write one for me. Recipient is Daphne Greengrass. I want you to write the most pompous and self-important invitation you can think of, alright? Invite her to the International Travel Agency at eight, tomorrow. Evening wear strongly recommended. Tell her to leave enough appetite for dinner."

"Is that all, sir?"

Harry nodded and thanked his assistant, who wasted no time in scurrying out and closing the door, no doubt scrambling for the high quality parchment and ink.

Harry reached down into one of his drawers. His hand sank in, much further than should be possible, and when he retracted it he was holding a dark, wooden smoking pipe. Harry wasn't a habitual smoker, but he'd indulge on occasion.

He brought the pipe to his mouth and his wand ignited it with a touch. It looked perfectly ordinary but to Harry's senses, it sang with magic. Harry took a drag, tasting the Indian spice in his mouth for a long moment.

A lazy flick of his wand summoned the jar that used to be next to the fireplace on the far side of his office. He reached in and caught a bit of Floo powder between his fingers.

"Bonnaire residence," he intoned and let the powder fall into the pipe, watching as tiny green flames spurred to life. For the purposes of this conversation, voice communication would suffice.

The voice that spoke through the pipe was gruff, deep and audibly annoyed. "Maxime Bonnaire à l'appareil. C'est de la part de qui?"

Time to dust off his French. "Bonjour, Max. C'est Harry Potter."

The man took a moment to reply, no doubt surprised, but when he did his voice was much warmer and more inviting. "Bonjour, monsieur Potter. Comment allez-vous?"

"Ca va, merci. Et vous?"

"Bon, bon. Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider?"

Alone in his office, Harry grinned. Max had always been sharp. "J'ai besoin d'un service."

This should be fun.

 **~TMC~**

Harry appeared outside the entrance to the International Travel Agency exactly two minutes late. In front of him was a moderately sized brick building, and all around was nothing but endless fields. However, Harry knew that if he walked backwards he'd find himself in the outer edges of Diagon Alley.

The ITA building was inside Diagon Alley, but well outside of London. Such conceptual gymnastics had stopped bothering Harry years ago.

As he approached the building and entered the range of the charms, the full size and nature of it revealed itself to him, expanding by several orders of magnitude and becoming much, much stranger.

Harry had a small apology prepared for being late, but a quick look around the entrance porch assured him that there was no need, as Daphne wasn't here yet. He rather doubted she'd wait for him inside. Now he was in the unenviable position of being made to wait.

Several other people were waiting by the entrance though. His sudden appearance obviously startled them. Harry saw several eyes go wide, and a few of them even approached him. Harry plastered a smile on his face and greeted them back, shook a few hands and even marked his initials on a proffered scarf.

He'd learned years ago the value in being nice to his fans. They respectfully left him alone after a word or two, in most cases.

Exactly two minutes later, Harry heard the familiar _crack_ of Apparition behind him. Excusing himself from the old lady in front of him, he turned.

This time, he was mentally braced and certain that he wouldn't make a fool of himself, no matter how impressively Daphne had dressed or how sexy she looked. However, it seemed that his mental preparations had been for naught as Daphne, while certainly as beautiful as ever, was also wearing a long coat with fur trimming that covered her significantly enough that Harry didn't need to hide anything in his reaction. Her hair was let free this time, though it was no less cared for, and her face again presented the otherworldly grace that signified slight use of magical make-up.

He took her offered, gloved hand and brought it to his lips briefly.

"Hello Daphne. You look lovely this evening."

She did move her lips in a well-practised smile. "Thank you, Potter. It seems your wardrobe does contain some articles of value, after all. I was beginning to wonder."

Harry let her wrap her hand around his as was proper before they both headed inside the building.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd show," Harry said. "You're late."

"Do not try to deceive me, Potter. I had a charm set up on the entrance; I knew the moment you arrived."

Oh. Now the timing made more sense, not to mention his little teasing attempt had been turned on its head. In his defense, spotting one particular charm that he wasn't looking for in such a heavily magical place wasn't easy.

First blood, as they say, went to her.

"I hope your tardiness does not cost us our ride, Potter."

Harry refrained from noting that they both tarried exactly the same amount.

"Don't worry."

Around them, Britain's International Travel Agency was full of life, with people coming and going from the various sections of the station. Portkey rooms, Apparition spaces, broom stations and many other modes of transportation were coordinated here between Britain and foreign countries, all controlled by the combined efforts of the various sub-departments of the Ministry's Magical Transportation Department.

Daphne's face soured upon noticing the crowd of people all around them.

"Let us get to our carriage quickly, Potter. I grow tired of these stampeding peasants."

Harry's slightly widening eyes were the only indication of his surprise. His eyes flit to Daphne briefly. Despite the venom of her words her eyes were glued on him, as if waiting for something. The brief, satisfied smile that flashed through her expression was proof of this.

How had she known that Harry had booked an Abraxan carriage? Most people in such an occasion would assume either Apparition or Portkey travel would be used. Abraxan carriages were very expensive, and like most ridiculously expensive things, were used more as a statement of well-to-do than practicality, especially considering most other forms of magical transportation were nearly instantaneous.

He had expected at least some reaction from her when he guided her towards the Abraxan section. Perhaps not an impressed reaction necessarily, but certainly some surprise, at least. But no, she had expected this to be the case from the beginning. She couldn't have seen his booking, surely. He knew those were not public.

The smug look in her face told him that pretending that nothing happened wouldn't avail him much. He sighed.

"How'd you know?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

They had entered the carriage section by now. The door they used led them to an even larger area, much less populated. Public servants were going to and fro, leading people to their carriages or accepting arrivals. It wasn't just Abraxan that were used, many different species could be used for such a purpose. None as expensive or effective as the giant winged horses. "How'd you know we're taking a carriage?"

"Mister Potter?"

Harry turned his head to look at the Agency employee, and nodded at him with a greeting.

"This way, sir."

As they followed the helpful man, Harry turned back to Daphne and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I did not think you would drag me all the way over here just to Apparate us or take a Portkey. I know you personally have the power to authorise Portkey creation or international Apparition. I do not think you would be stupid enough to believe I would ride a broom or a carpet for such a purpose, either."

Harry chuckled. She'd caught the Snitch, but from the wrong angle. "What you don't know is that for me to authorize international travel or portkeys requires a series of papers signed that get tons more complicated if I need them for a personal trip. I have the ability to authorise those for Auror business, in case it needs to be secure in the ministry's archives and not in a separate entity. Really, it's much more convenient to use the Agency for day to day travels."

Harry did catch a flicker of uncertainty on her face, before it was quickly schooled.

"I was right, regardless."

That, she had been.

Harry would have liked to take a second and admire the carriage's elegant design, or the magnificent Abraxan horse tied in front of it, but his escort apparently didn't share his sentiment and kept her steps steady until they reached the carriage, which curiously lacked a driver's seat on the front. The animal was truly huge, easily taller than the carriage itself and requiring gaps in the ceiling to fit. If the place had been expanded to fit its size, it would have been considered too big, even by wizards.

Harry would have normally brought something alcoholic to thank the animal with, but he rather doubted Daphne would just wait while he fed it to the winged behemoth.

Harry dutifully opened the door for her, letting her go in first. Despite the normal sized appearance, the inside was slightly bigger, allowing him and Daphne to comfortably sit across each other. Harry knew that if their group consisted of more people, the interior of the carriage would have been appropriately larger.

"Where are we going?"

She spoke in a nonchalant tone, but she could not hide the tension of curiosity in her expression. Harry smiled.

"You'll see when we get there." The charms on the carriage would ensure that she didn't get a hint. No matter what direction or speed they travelled, they wouldn't feel any difference and Harry had specifically asked the windows charmed shut.

Daphne scoffed, but otherwise did not offer another sign of curiosity. If Harry hadn't had very, very strict rules regarding the acceptable use of Legilimency, he'd be tempted to use it right now.

They felt the carriage begin to move as the Abraxan began the journey. With nothing else to distract her, Daphne was staring directly at him.

Her gray eyes and carefully controlled expression were piercing and intense. If Harry wasn't already in the process of protecting his mind, he would have no doubt felt compelled to check for intrusion. There was no legilimency in Daphne's look, but that didn't mean that she wasn't able to read him.

Harry fished around for a good, safe subject to start off with, ready to escape this semi-awkward silence. Well, awkward for him. Perhaps her family's recent acquisition of a warehouse in Luxembourg? Yes, that would do.

Harry opened his mouth to talk, but she beat him to it.

"Tell me about the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry blinked, thankfully not reacting in any other way despite his surprise. His chosen subject shot down before it even left his mouth, it took him a couple seconds to register her question.

"Pardon?"

"The Chamber of Secrets. Salazar Slytherin's secret sanctuary. What is it like? I kept expecting you to publish the results of your research on it, perhaps even write a book about it. Historians across Europe would have certainly appreciated it. But you never did. Why? What was down there that you want to keep it a secret so badly?"

Her gaze was intense, serious. She was watching his face for the slightest hint of evasion, of deception. She obviously would not let a lie stand.

When Harry snorted and started chuckling, her expression turned incredulous.

"Potter? What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said between laughing breaths. "I hear you, I hear you."

"This is no laughing matter, Potter! The Chamber of Secrets is a lost cultural treasure of our civilization. The things we could learn from studying it-"

"Well I'm sorry to say, but there's not much cultural reclaiming to be done in the Chamber."

She stopped what she was about to say, staring at him with a disbelieving expression.

"Excuse me?"

"There are no grand discoveries waiting down there, Daphne. What I found when I descended was no hallowed hall of a long lost warlock. The Chamber is a dump. Just a smelly, leaky dungeon with an ugly statue and a dead snake."

"Snake?"

"The monster of legend hiding in the Chamber? It was a basilisk, the biggest I've ever seen. Voldemort was using it to target muggleborns and later, me."

"Never mind that," she said, making a dismissive move with her gloved hand "how many times have you searched the Chamber? Did you bring experts with you? Did it never occur to you that Salazar Slytherin, being a _wizard_ , would have perhaps hidden something with _magic_? Perhaps its secrets eluded your perception."

Harry snorted. There was a possibility, granted, but he rather doubted it. The Chamber was one of the most overhyped things in magical Britain's history, exaggerated over and over the generations as a myth. Well, perhaps the myths did not do the monster itself justice, but there was no hidden mystery waiting down there for the proper, cunning Slytherin to find.

He shrugged. "Can't say I've been down there again. My first experience wasn't very pleasant, what with nearly dying to a basilisk a hundred times my size and everything."

"What?" she bristled at his words. "You have never- you never even _attempted_ -" she paused in an obvious effort to re-assert control over herself. When she spoke again she was forcibly calmer, but no less furious. "Potter, are you serious?'

"I'm telling you, there's nothing else down there. And now that I think about it, we did end up visiting the Chamber briefly, before the Battle."

She visibly held herself back from what she had meant to say. She leaned further back, crossing her arms over chest.

"I would have thought that you were too busy during the fight to go sight-seeing."

"We were," he said. "There was something in the Chamber that we needed. Remains from the basilisk that we could put to good use."

She considered his words. "What was it?"

"The venom. We needed some of the venom. It was crucial, and one of the reasons we returned to Hogwarts in the first place."

She nodded along with his words. "I did wonder what exactly brought you back. The mounted defense looked rather haphazard, indicating no previous communication on your end."

"Err, yeah. We hadn't really expected a stand to happen then and there."

Daphne crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles and her elbow on her knee. Her shiny black heels were a little distracting.

"There was endless speculation, you know," she said "about what the three of you were doing. Obviously, you couldn't have stayed in Hogwarts, but we had no idea what you were up to until you showed up in the castle that day."

"I wasn't just running," he replied. "What we did was necessary to make Voldemort's end possible."

She made a noise of irritation, or perhaps impatience, from down her throat. "What did you do, exactly?"

Harry shook his head. "Voldemort had taken steps, had _done_ things … that we needed to undo, before the final battle could be fought. Some parts of that story are better left in the dark and erased from the annals of history."

Daphne narrowed her eyes as she studied him, annoyance at his evasion evident in her expression, but Harry did not back down and stared back at her with equal intensity.

She clicked her tongue in an irritated habit, and crossed her hands again, leaning back and looking away. "Have it your way," she said. "Knowing you and your two bootlickers, you probably spent the year hiding until you were forced out by circumstance and made to fight."

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling the cold sensation of fury flowing through his veins. He kept as tight a lid on it as he could, but some of it bled into his tone and expression.

"Say what you want about me," he warned, "but don't talk like that about my friends. You have no idea what we had to go through during that year, how hard it was to accomplish our mission and bring about Voldemort's downfall. You don't get to downplay their efforts when all you did was hide behind Malfoy's skirts for protection while people died and suffered around you."

Daphne expression turned livid, matching his in indignation but overmatching it in sheer glaring intensity.

"Do not presume you know anything about me, my House, or what we had to go through during seventh year," she hissed. "I refuse to accept judgement from you or anyone else. I did my duty as a citizen of this country, Potter." As she said this, she reached a gloved hand to her neckline and took hold of the edge of her coat and the string of her dress, drawing them back. Harry watched, confused, and she kept pulling them to the side and over her shoulder, revealing smooth, pale skin underneath. Harry spotted what she was trying to show; a long, serrated gash, going from her collarbone in a downward diagonal line and stopping at the beginning of the smooth mound of her chest. A knife, or a slicing curse of some kind. Probably a butchered cast judging from the rugged scarring, or perhaps deliberately so.

She pulled the coat back to its original position after a couple seconds. Her glare had never let up.

"I did my duty," she repeated. "I _fought_ during the Battle of Hogwarts, alongside many of my housemates, and it was not for the side you and your kind often accuse us of supporting."

Harry had not forgotten professor Slughorn's brave flanking maneuver, rushing to Hogwarts' defense from Hogsmeade, accompanied by a plethora of Slytherin alumni and older students. They had been crucial in stemming the tide of the Dark Army by attacking them from a different angle. He hadn't known that Daphne had been one of them.

His expression had already cleared before he consciously considered doing it, but he had nothing to apologise for.

"My kind?"

"Mudbloods and blood traitors."

Harry frowned, and considered the merits of arguing her use of these terms. Her expression had lost the intense glare, but she still seemed on edge. Her eyes all but dared him to make a comment.

He'd have to address this issue eventually, but perhaps now was not the best time.

"I suppose we both have a lot to learn about each other."

That was not what she was expecting, if her expression was any indication.

"Potter-"

"We're here," Harry cut her off. It took a second for her to register his words. Indeed, the carriage had stopped moving. She closed her mouth with a quick sniff, before running a quick check over her coat with her hands.

Harry was about to open the door, but it opened for them from the outside. Harry climbed out first and offered his hand in assistance. She looked a little sour, but accepted it without a fuss.

When they were out of the carriage, Harry kept his eyes locked on Daphne rather than savor the amazing view around them. He wanted to perfectly take in the moment of dawning realization.

The first that anyone notices when stepping foot on the docks of the Ciel D'Azur is the view. Situated as it is on the lower levels of the mesosphere, it offered a breathtaking view of the cloud-covered Earth below, having a much greater effect on first-time visitors who witness such a panoramic view of the planet for the first time.

Outside the clouding effect of the lower atmospheric levels, the view of the clear stars above, the wide view of the Earth below and what was without a doubt the best sunset anyone would ever witness all conspired together to make stepping into the dock a memorable experience.

No matter how self-disciplined Daphne was, she was unprepared for what she witnessed when she stepped out of the carriage. She stared around and below her, mouth half open and eyes wide, fascination and wonder as clear in her eyes as the sunlight.

Harry let her take in everything and turned his gaze forward, to where the translucent dock led. The Ciel D'Azur was a massive construct, fading in and out of view of outside eyes and constantly flowing in shape and size. Using the word "building" to describe it was inaccurate, as it was mostly built out of charms and enchantments rather than stone and mortar.

It was the result of years of international cooperative magical research. The crowning achievement of the worldwide Enchanter's Guild, built in cooperation with a dozen different guilds and countries and the shining jewel of magical progress, being one of the most heavily magical places across the globe.

It was one of the most expensive resorts, hotels and restaurants in the wizarding world.

Daphne came out of her stupor after about a minute of staring. She turned wide, disbelieving eyes to him.

"The Ciel D'Azur?" she asked, tone incredulous. "You brought me to the _Ciel D'Azur_?"

Harry smiled. Watching her after being caught off-guard was a treat, and the sincerity of her expression wouldn't last long, so he enjoyed it while it was there. Indeed, Daphne didn't waste time in regaining her cool and re-affixing a neutral expression.

He would not ask her if she had come to the Ciel before. For one, he already knew that she had not, and did not want to bring her to the uncomfortable position of either lying or revealing that she had not.

"I have to admit that this, I did not expect," she said, waving her hand in a wide gesture towards the translucent creation ahead of them. "How come you decided to bring us here of all places, Potter?'

Harry's smile widened slightly. "I'm doing what you told me."

At her raised eyebrow, he continued. "I'm playing the game, Daphne." He extended his hand palm up, bent at the elbow. A request. "Would you play with me?"

He saw her eyes watching his own, reading him, calculating. He let it happen, expression pleasant, hand still extended.

Her delicate, gloved hand fit perfectly inside his. Daphne did not hide the small smile of excitement as she thought of all that awaited them inside.

"Let us play, Potter."

Harry nodded and together they started walking, leaving the Abraxan behind to be cared for by the hotel's staff. His gaze flowed over to the staff member that was approaching from his free side. Clearly a professional, he'd waited from a discreet distance until he and Daphne had finished speaking before approaching. He was a young man in his late twenties, carefully groomed and smartly dressed in one of the Ciel's uniforms.

"Bonsoir, monsieur Potter, et bienvenue à Ciel D'Azur."

"Bonsoir à vous aussi."

"Monsieur Bonnaire voudrais vous assurer tout a été arrangé et vous souhaite une soirée agréable."

"Merci beaucoup." The man quickly accepted the money in Harry's free, proffered hand, the tip vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared.

Harry heard a small snort and turned, catching Daphne's amused expression before it could vanish.

"What?" he asked.

"Your accent is terrible," she noted. "I hope you don't try to talk french while we're in there."

Harry grimaced. It wasn't his fault he couldn't pull off the proper accent. "It doesn't matter," he said. "The place is covered in translation charms for all the major languages. We should be clear once we're inside."

"Thank magic for small mercies."

Harry took one last look downward before they ascended the stairs leading to the entrance. Dozens of kilometers below the earth was sprawled, the clouds visible as only white expanses. Ahead, the sun was magnificent.

It was only an incredible combination of charms that made movement, breathing and vision normal at such altitudes, but it felt no different to walking on the ground. The experience was almost surreal, and he'd been to the Ciel dozens of times in the past.

"I know for a fact that reservations for the Ciel can take years," Daphne noted as they entered through the grand entrance, opened on both sides by a pair of employees. "How did you get a reservation at such short notice? Or have you been planning this for just that long?"

Saving the Ciel D'Azur was the operation that had given him enough international clout and connections to make his early ascension to Head Auror possible. It also had the much lesser known bonus of earning him the friendship of the resort's manager and holder of the greatest ownership claim; Maxime Bonnaire.

Harry smiled, but did not offer an answer. In this case, letting her imagination fill in the blanks would probably construct a more impressive image than the reality of him asking Max to bump him up the queue.

This also showed that while Daphne had probably had some research on him done, she hadn't gone through his mission records or been notified of it. The situation with the Ciel had, of course, been kept under wraps as much as possible, dealt with on a need-to-know basis, but it hadn't been completely off the books.

The interior of the Ciel was a tricky thing to describe. For them, it had the form of a Victorian style palace with crystal chandeliers, colored glass panel windows and stone, intricately carved walls covered in fine art. The thing about the Ciel was that, as it was a construct of magic, it was designed to change appearance and function to suit the needs of its patrons. Visitors could wish for a private retreat and see nothing but a remote cottage or small chateau with no one else around. The Ciel would create that reality for them. It offered a wide range of available forms and functions for each unique visitor, which was why it was so expensive, why reservations took so long to process and why the queue for it was so incredibly long.

However, the Ciel did offer a function for the more socially inclined. It worked as a hotel, offering world-class suites, and boasted one of the best restaurants and banquet halls in the world. Considering the insane price-tag, the only people one would find in this particular iteration of the Ciel D'Azur were members of a particular social, economic or political class Over time, that iteration of the Ciel became a famous destination of the social elite.

It was this function that Daphne and Harry were making use of now.

Harry had to concentrate in order to tune out the radiant magic that threatened to distract him. Everything around him thrummed and glowed with power. The Ciel might look solid, but it was constructed mainly out of charms and enchantments.

They were led through the reception, half-way empty but with a few residents going this and that way, until they reached the restaurant.

The restaurant itself was in a wide space with tall ceiling, decorated in a fashion perfected by the french over the ages, all gleaming chandeliers and shining silverware. The tables were wide and circular, made to seat a group of people rather than just two.

Their own table, the one their waiter led them to before bowing and leaving, contained five other people, men and women. Harry surveyed them with his eyes. All were dressed expensively, though some had more taste than others.

Their approach halted conversation. Calculating, intelligent eyes bore down on them. Harry smiled widely.

"Everyone, my apologies if we were a bit late. Some of you I've met before, others purely through correspondence. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Allow me to introduce to you Daphne Greengrass, daughter of Fabio Greengrass, who has done me the honor of being my escort for tonight."

Polite greetings were exchanged as the two took their seats. Harry took a few seconds to introduce them. From left to right, Harry offered their names.

If Harry had entertained thoughts of Daphne feeling out of her depth, he needn't have worried. As soon as was proper, she turned to her left and began chatting up Alexander Trismegistus, world-renowned Lead Alchemist of the Athenian Magical Academy.

"Great to make your acquaintance, mister Trismegistus."

The translation charms perfectly translated the man's reply, but some of his curt accent also got through. "Greengrass, was it? It almost feels like yesterday that I was bartering with your grandfather for minerals. Tell me, how fares your father, Fabio?"

"Father is in great health, thank you. We have been following your research papers closely. Mother, in particularly, seemed especially invested in your recent work, Transmutating for-"

Harry couldn't really listen to her conversation for long, as he had to pay attention to the woman to his right. She was older than him, but younger than Trismegistus, and her appearance was well cared for. Once, the silver-haired woman must have been very pretty.

"It's great to finally meet you, mister Potter."

"You as well, minister Fawley. You'd think that our professions would have had us meet sooner, but it was not to be."

"Please call me Cornelia, mister Potter. I'm not that old quite yet."

"Then I'll insist you call me Harry, Cornelia."

"Agreed. Harry, I would love it if you told me more of your recent raid north of Norwich."

"Of course." It made sense that she would ask. Cornelia Fawley was the Germanic wizarding nation's minister of foreign affairs. Before he went on, Harry turned to the man silently watching their conversation from the seat to Fawley's right. "Perhaps you would offer your insight to the operation, master Shafiq?"

Yazid Shafiq, head of the Ottoman Calif's personal guard, gave him a silent nod. Harry bowed his head in respect to his elder, before beginning his recounting.

While Harry generally avoided the hassle of political socialization, that didn't mean that he couldn't perform or even enjoy it under certain circumstances. This was one of them. Perhaps he did not agree with the people on this table all the time - and they often vocalized their disagreement - but the conversation was engaging and the opinions exchanged illuminating. He knew they would be here, of course. They had been chosen, for one reason or another, even if they didn't know it.

Daphne appeared to be completely in her element, maneuvering conversations with grace, poise and ease that would have one think she'd known everyone around the table for years.

The dining tables in the Ciel appeared to be haunted, interestingly enough. Harry could sense a Norwegian Fairy in each one. Unseen to the naked eye, the tiny humanoid - decked out in an equally tiny Ciel uniform - zoomed from patron to patron, using small bursts of magic to refill glasses, summon orders, vanish stains and generally act as a constant waiting presence.

After dinner was done, all of them as a group headed to the banquet hall, where most of the hotel's residents were already gathered. An orchestra was playing a gentle tune, and the counter on one side was bursting with dozens of varieties of exotic drinks, which were served to the patrons by a small squad of fairies.

There they mingled, using the soothing qualities of alcohol and music to get to know some of the members of Europe's magical elite. Present were aristocrats, heirs of ancient families, ministers and secretaries, businessmen and ambassadors, artists and innovators.

Harry pretended not to see Bernard Trevisan, officially the owner of a chain of apothecaries, but suspected by law enforcement agencies as the head of Europe's premier magical smuggling ring. It was one of _his_ operations that Harry had busted, earlier that week. There was no case against him yet, but Harry didn't quite feel like tip-toeing around him with his words when they both knew what each other knew.

Daphne stayed by his side, as was proper, but Harry was hardly her focus during most of the evening. As they walked around and mingled, Daphne identified several people she wanted to talk to. Sometimes they'd separate for a bit while Daphne turned the charm on, other times they'd both engage in conversation. Harry had his own list to hunt down, and he kept Daphne mostly by his side as he did so, introducing her and reveling in her pleasant disposition among high ranking officials, magical innovators or people richer than her.

There was some dancing, but it was obviously not the focus of that particular evening. They danced for the few songs that did come up, all of them slow pieces. Harry noted that she was as graceful a dancer as she was a socialite and made sure not to stray from his own lessons and embarrass himself. By the end of it, he thought he did rather well.

Harry's agenda for the evening was accomplished easily, so he wasn't too stressed and didn't pressure himself to do or say things that he didn't particularly want to. He met some people and talked about topics that he was interested in. Among conversations, he took some time to admire the ease with which Daphne managed to maintain the attention of aristocrats, often seamlessly turning their focus to her family's business and making them see how a potential deal could be mutually beneficial, all the while presenting a vibrant persona and maintaining her beautiful, slightly conservative look.

The urge to snort was hard to repress. British Ministry employees or European nobles, it seemed to make little difference to her.

Eventually, several hours later, the festivities did begin drawing to a close, with patrons slowly retreating to their suites. At that time, after a few carefully selected goodbyes and assurances of continued contact, Harry and Daphne left the banquet hall, walking in tandem, her hand curled around his.

Harry could see the excitement radiate off her. Daphne practically shone, though he could also spot signs of tiredness. Her grin as they walked out of the Ciel and back towards their Abraxan carriage would have frightened lesser men. Not even the descent and burning of a shooting star, several miles above them, could draw her attention away from her thoughts.

Harry did not speak, letting her savor whatever successes had her in such high spirits. He had no complaints of tonight, himself. Their argument on the way here seemed like a distant, hazy memory.

They were mostly silent for the duration of their trip, but after some time of being still, it seemed that Daphne could no longer contain her excitement.

"That was amazing, Potter."

Even if he knew she was pleased, Harry hadn't expected quite that enthusiastic of a reaction. He took a second to reply, hesitation which Daphne didn't fail to notice if her raised eyebrow was any indication.

"What are you referring to, exactly?"

"You know very well. Others in my position would commit several and severe crimes to be given such an opportunity with only _one_ of the people in that building, never mind a banquet hall full of them, I-... thank you."

Harry could spot not deception in her tone. Her thanks was sincere. He let his smile widen.

"No problem, Daphne. I'm glad you had fun."

Her brow furrowed. "You think this was about _fun_? Have you any idea what you enabled me to do, in there? The people I talked to, the impressions I gave, the ideas I helped create! Tonight will keep me and my family busy for months, if not _years_ to come!"

 _And not just you_ , Harry thought, but didn't say. Better to let her think she got the better results from tonight out of the two of them. He gave a casual shrug.

"I'm glad you got what you wanted."

"Not as much as I am, I assure you."

Their carriage halted, signaling their arrival to the Agency. Harry opened the door, got out and helped her climb down, accepting her mumbled thanks with a nod of his head. Harry waved his thanks to the agency employees who rushed to take care of the majestic winged horse behind them.

"Allow me to Apparate you home?"

Daphne snorted. "I'm not inebriated this time, Potter."

"Count it as a favor to me, then."

"Do not think that I will not. Alright then."

Once outside the Agency's doors, Harry held her arms a bit tighter and together they vanished with a small _pop_.

They Apparated outside of Greengrass Manor, unfazed. Harry gave a small smile to his companion, relaxing his hold on her and letting her take a step away from him.

"Perhaps you have more uses than I initially gave you credit for. It is not often I am surprised like this."

Harry grinned, affixing his glasses more securely on his nose. "You got what you wanted, then?"

This time, his grin was matched on her face. Her knowing, self-assured smile sent a chill down his spine.

"You still haven't understood, Potter?" she asked. "I _always_ get what I want, one way or another."

"Is that so?"

She gave a barely perceptible nod, smile still on her face. Her fingers found their way to his suit, playing with one of the top silver buttons.

"Exactly so," she said, and by magic she made it sound almost like a _purr_. "And do you know what it is that I want right now?"

What was she playing at? Harry felt quite uncomfortable; he hadn't expected this kind of reaction. This must have been a trick of some kind, surely.

"Err, what?"

"What was it you called it?" Daphne wondered in a tone that was clearly equal parts sarcastic and rhetorical, one perfectly manicured finger placed on her lips. "Oh," she said, and her eyes shone "I remember." The same unsettling grin found its way to her face again.

"A _goodnight kiss_."

Before Harry had even processed her words she had moved, reaching up and standing slightly on her toes to touch her lips to his.

Harry was no stranger to the fairer sex, or the more pleasant interactions that could be had between them and him, but he hadn't been ready for this. Very few of the scenarios he had envisioned for tonight included this, and they were the kind that he accepted as being rather unrealistic and more fantasy-related.

This led to him freezing for a full two seconds, while Daphne's soft lips did terrible and beautiful things to his own. By the time he oriented his thoughts and began responding she had already pulled back, her hands on his shoulders stopping any reclaiming attempt.

Her triumphant, condescending smile was like lead down Harry's stomach, taunting him and sapping any satisfaction he might have felt from having her lips against his. He felt like he'd failed something, like something had slipped through his fingers.

Daphne let him go and walked backwards, supremely satisfied expression firmly affixed on her face. It made her seem at the same time gorgeous and frightening.

"You do not understand yet, Harry Potter," she purred as she phased through the gates of her estate.

"But soon, you will. Oh yes." And then Harry could neither see nor hear her.

Now completely alone, Harry brought a gloved hand up to his lips. He looked at his fingers for a few seconds, before shaking his head in a jerky motion and forming a fist with that hand.

Thoughts confused and brow set in a frown, Harry Disapparated home with the taste of Daphne lingering on his lips.

* * *

 **~TMC~**


	4. Step 3: Tactical Reevaluation

**.**

 **~TMC~**

 **Step 3: Tactical Reevaluation**

 **~TMC~**

* * *

Hogsmeade was beautiful at this time of year. The magical village was completely covered in snow and even though dark clouds covered the sun, multicolored lamps lit the roads and houses. They helped create a festive atmosphere that made Harry fondly remember his own days as a student.

After Apparating into one of the village's alleys, Harry made sure that he was properly protected against the cold with both clothes and magic. Sure, a bunch of warming charms would allow him to go outside in a sleeveless shirt, but it just didn't feel like December if you weren't wearing four different layers of clothes, gloves and a scarf.

The roads were mostly devoid of traffic this early in the day. With the students gone for winter break and Christmas right around the corner, Hogsmeade saw few comings and goings from anyone beyond the locals.

Early as it was, Harry's first stop was the Hog's Head. After opening the creaking door, his gaze was drawn to the elderly barman. Aberforth hadn't changed much in the last decade, even after his brother's passing. The impressively bearded man was wiping a glass as Harry walked in and gave him a nod when he saw him.

"Good morning, Aberforth." Harry was about to open his mouth again when he noticed the person he was looking for, sitting on one of the bar stools. He walked over, removing his gloves as he did so, and sat next to the woman.

"What'll it be, Potter?" Aberforth asked him.

"Nothing today, I won't stay long."

The old barman grunted and moved further away to another customer. A vampire, if Harry's senses didn't fool him.

"Good morning, sir."

Harry turned his gaze to the woman next to him. Her dark red Auror robe lay folded on the stool next to her. Aurors did have an official uniform, though they seldom used it. Stations and patrols in highly public areas - such as Hogsmeade - however, required the proper attire from on-duty Aurors. The woman was older than him, but not by much.

"Morning Mulciber. How's Hogsmeade duty?"

The redheaded woman rolled her eyes but nevertheless refrained from sarcastic remarks. "All quiet, sir. You here for the kids?"

"Yeah. Figured I'd say hi on my way to the school."

"Appreciate the thought. It's been dreadfully boring."

"When's your shift end?"

"Four days."

Hogsmeade duty was basically vacation. The Auror was given a paid room in the Three Broomsticks and two meals per day, in exchange for maintaining vigilance throughout the day for any unrest or problems. The only issue was that there hadn't been a reported incident in Hogsmeade for over six years, now. Instead, Hogsmeade duty was given to Aurors that were recovering from injury or were close to retirement and could use the downtime.

"Tell you what," Harry said. "I'll go speak to the Headmistress, and when I'm done we'll have a lunch or a drink depending on the time, and I'll tell you about the guy who tried to curse his wife but ended up Vanishing his kidney."

She smiled. "That'd be nice, sir."

"Alright, see you in a bit."

Harry rose from the stool, flipped a coin so that it landed on the bar and left before she or Aberforth could protest.

Back out into the snow, Harry readjusted his coat and gloves, making sure he was protected against the cold. Then he raised his hand, his holly wand slipping into his palm.

"Expecto Patronum," he whispered. A silvery stag coalesced, circled him once, and then took off in the direction of the castle.

Harry began his trudge from Hogsmeade to the castle gates. It wasn't too far, but covered as everything was in snow, it took longer than it otherwise would have. Harry enjoyed the walking, regardless. Even now, after all these years, he missed Hogwarts and, by extension, Hogsmeade visits. He visited the village often, on business or pleasure, but it no longer felt the same.

He arrived outside the gates of Hogwarts and waited. Despite having provided advanced warning, he had to wait for five minutes before someone arrived.

Professor Flitwick looked quite hapless, trying to trudge through snow that reached just above his waist, even if he did have his wand in hand to clear the way in front of him.

"Mister Potter, how nice to see you."

"Likewise, Professor. Good morning."

"Come in, come in please. Apologies for the wait."

"No problem."

The gates opened with a wave of the diminutive charms master's wand, and Harry walked in.

Professor Flitwick had aged quite visibly in the last few years, hair now completely grey, face more wrinkled than ever before. However, none of the man's enthusiasm or cheer had vanished. Even if he'd soon have to retire, Harry knew that he still enjoyed teaching as much as he ever had.

"How are you, professor?"

"Why, wonderful, of course. Nothing to complain about. Christmas is just around the corner, after all. Yourself, Mister Potter?"

"Can't complain, either."

"You are here for the Auror prospects, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Marvelous, marvelous. You shall be made proud this year, I'm certain!"

"How many?"

"Ten who professed a desire to join the Auror Corps. Five who are expected to get high enough NEWT results. Maybe six."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That's an high number. Must be a good year."

"Most impressive, yes. But I'm sure you'll hear all about them from the Headmistress."

As they walked, Harry's head turned to the right, towards the Forbidden Forest.

"Is Hagrid around?" he asked. "I was hoping to speak to him."

"Unfortunately no. He's been in the Forest since dawn, and you know how he gets."

Harry did know how his half-giant friend could get. He let out a sigh, but didn't pursue it any further. He'd catch Hagrid some other day.

He chatted with the old professor for the rest of the way until the open gates and the castle's Entrance Hall. Coming back to Hogwarts never failed to lift his spirits. The castle was … just as he remembered it. The Christmas decorations were in place, with the occasional suit of armor whistling a merry tune.

Through the open doors of the Great Hall, to their left, Harry could see the late risers lazily wrap up breakfast, inside. During winter break, when most students left the castle, remaining students and professors alike shared one table. Most students had already finished breakfast and left, but half a dozen still sleepily moved their food around.

"I trust you can find your way to her office, hm?"

Harry nodded down at the older man. "Thanks, professor. Have a nice day."

Professor Flitwick gave him a cheery wave before leaving to join the other two Professors on the breakfast table, Professors Smith and Proudfoot.

Harry continued alone through the entrance hall and over to the stairway, walking slowly, enjoying every moment. He greeted every ghost he met and waved to some particular portraits that remembered him.

He passed a few students along the way, but the hallways were mostly deserted. A gaggle of kids, probably no older than twelve, gave him curious looks, no doubt not recognizing him as a teacher, but Harry could tell that they otherwise didn't know him at all. He returned their look with a small wave, which startled them and made them scatter. He chuckled and went on his way.

He had almost reached the Headmistress office when he spotted a duo of seventh years, no doubt coming down from the office. From their sudden halt and the widening of their eyes, he could tell that they did recognize him.

The gargoyle had not yet closed when he reached them. He gave the dumbfounded teens a smile and a quick wink before slipping inside the stairway just as it was about to close.

He reached the door to the Headmistress' office and raised his hand to knock, only to be interrupted by a voice.

"Come in, Mister Potter."

He froze in surprise for a second but then chuckled, opening the door and stepping into the office.

Headmistress McGonagall had, in many ways, brought change to Hogwarts. At first, Harry had expected the Headmaster's office to be the one most affected, considering how much the late Headmaster's personality clashed with his former Transfiguration professor, but to his surprise, it was not so.

While change was present in that the office was more organized, less cluttered and more muted in color, McGonagall had not gotten rid of professor Dumbledore's collection of gadgets and magical knick-knacks. They were integral to the school's function for all Harry knew. Regardless, McGonagall's influence was visible, as even the portraits of past headmasters had been rearranged to be more orderly.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry said with a tip of his head as he walked in. McGonagall looked up from her desk and motioned to the chair in front of her.

"Good morning, Mister Potter. Have a seat."

Harry did, getting comfortable on the deep green armchair and gazing upon his old professor and friend.

Perhaps more surprising than the change McGonagall had brought to Hogwarts was the change Hogwarts had brought to the aging professor. Her hair, now completely silver with age, lacked the bun she would sport during Harry's school days, but instead followed her neck downwards in curious knots. Her signature pointy hat was now gone, giving her a much more approachable appearance, though her stern gaze remained. She had aged visibly from Harry's teen years, but she was taking it well.

Harry could have sworn that he saw the figure of a cat scurry along the sleeve of McGonagall's lightly-colored robes, but when he focused on the spot it was gone.

"How have you been, professor?"

"Well enough, Potter, thank you. Am I to assume that you are here for the Auror prospects?"

Straight to the point it was, then. Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"I'm surprised that you came in person," she noted. "Normally we would receive one of your Aurors or bureaucrats."

At this, he smiled. "True, but I've been meaning to visit lately, and this was a good opportunity."

"I see." Judging by her frown, the Headmistress was fighting down the urge to berate him. His smile widened at her exasperated expression.

She pushed a small stack of papers closer to him. "Here are the students' files."

Harry took them and opened them, briefly checking over the names of the six students detailed within.

"Thank you, these will be useful in planning the training courses. Anyone of note?"

"Miss Creevey," the Headmistress replied. "She achieved all the necessary OWLS with seeming ease, and happens to be Professor Proudfoot's favorite pupil. Protégé, even."

"How is she in Transfiguration, then?"

McGonagall pushed her glasses higher before replying. "Brilliant, according to Professor Smith. She is expected to ace her NEWTS."

"Really?" Dennis' little sister was doing this well? Harry focused on her file in particular, detailing her grades over various years, extracurricular activities and impressions from teachers. "Starting Chaser and Captain of the Dueling Club, I see. Impressive record."

The Headmistress nodded. "I have no doubt she'll make an exemplary Auror with proper training."

"And that is what we at the Auror Office aim to supply," Harry commented, before placing Miss Creevey's paper on the bottom of the pile. "What about the others?"

They spent the next hour going over the records of the students that Harry would most likely be teaching the following year. He'd go over them in more detail on his own, and the instructors would as well, but getting information directly from the Headmistress also helped a lot in getting to know the future Aurors.

"I think this will do," Harry said, almost forty minutes later. "I have what I need."

"Excellent. We'll keep you posted on their progress."

Harry nodded, rolling his shoulders to rid them of stiffness.

"Business done, it seems."

McGonagall's stern expression cracked. "So it does."

"How have you been Professor? Chest still aching every Thursday?"

A small grimace found its way to her face, distorting her wrinkles even further. "Unfortunately. It's been acting up. December doesn't sit well with it, alas. It's nothing a good potion can't fix."

"Give my regards to Poppy, would you?"

"Can you not spare her a visit, yourself?"

"Eh, I don't have enough time on my hands for the examination she'd surely demand. I'll make some time to visit her in Mungo's, though."

She gave him a nod. For a few seconds, silence reigned, during which his former professor examined Harry with suddenly critical eyes.

"And … how have you been, Mister Potter?"

Harry knew that tone. "Oh, you know. Same old."

"Really?" she questioned, and her disbelieving tone eerily reminded him of the feeling of getting caught red-handed. Even now, it was hard to mentally remove himself from the position of guilty student when in front of his old head of House.

"Err … as far as I know."

"Rumors have reached my ears, you know. The board of governors does like to talk."

"There's always been rumors about me, Professor," Harry said with a shrug that might have been quite as nonchalant as he'd meant for it to, judging by her raised eyebrow.

"These are eerily specific rumors, though. You were sighted in the Ciel, of all places. Is that accurate?"

Harry didn't fight the urge to pass his hand through his hair. "That I was, aye."

"All these years you've been pretty vocal about avoiding places like that, and suddenly you go to Ciel of your own volition and not in an official capacity?"

Harry shrugged. "I had good company."

McGonagall pushed her glasses higher up her nose. "Ah, yes. Miss Greengrass, correct?"

"I hope that's not disapproval in your tone, Professor."

Her brow furrowed. Not quite a glare, but close.

"I assure you, Mister Potter, I do not make it my business to judge other people's choice of company. Miss Greengrass was an exemplary student in her time, and seems to continue in the same fashion into adulthood. What the two of you get up to is none of my concern."

Okay, Harry would readily admit that perhaps assuming his old professor would disapprove of Daphne was unfair. McGonagall had always been just, even if she'd taken great pride in her own House. She'd never displayed any hostility towards Slytherins in general.

"I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

Her scathing expression vanished, and silence reigned for a few more seconds. Harry recognized her hesitant expression as that of someone who wanted to say something, but was afraid to.

"Just spit it out, Professor," he urged. "What is it?"

After another brief moment of hesitation, the Headmistress spoke. "Rather than Miss Greengrass' presence, I was more surprised at the rest of your dining companions."

Ah. So, she knew.

"Rumors, again?"

"Quite."

Harry twined his fingers on top of his knee. "Yeah, Master Trismegistus was there. And what is it you wanted to ask?"

"Did you invite Alexis to … do what I'd asked?"

"What makes you think I invited him?"

Her apprehensive expression turned to one of irritation. Good.

"You don't expect me to believe the people on that table were a surprise to you?"

Harry shrugged, admitting nothing.

"As it happens, Daphne commanded most of Sir Alexander's attention before we parted ways."

McGonagall schooled her disappointment quickly, and Harry continued before she had a chance to say anything.

"But I did share a few words with him, yes."

"And what did he have to say?"

Harry let out a huff. "I'm not a post owl, you know. One would think you could talk to your ex-husband, Professor. It's not that hard."

"You wouldn't understand, Potter, and I hope you don't have to. Now, what did he say?"

"He said he'll talk to Peter."

"And you told him about the position?"

"Yes."

"He specifically mentioned that he'd relay it to Peter?"

"Yes, Professor. I just said that."

"That's … good. Yes, good." The Headmistress nodded her head as she spoke, almost assuring herself. Harry knew the barest of the basics of her family situation, but was nevertheless happy to assist her. Anything that would affect the otherwise unflappable professor must be important. Besides, it'd been a small matter to do this favor for his former professor, amidst the rest of his agenda for that night.

He waited patiently for a moment while McGonagall collected her thoughts and returned her attention to him.

"You've met Peter before, have you not?"

Harry recalled meeting the man two years prior during an official visit to the United Greek States' Agora. He nodded. "I have."

"Do you think he will accept?"

A lofty question. Harry did not know the man well enough to make a proper judgment, and McGonagall probably knew that. Still, the gleam in his old teacher's eye told him that practical, brutal honesty perhaps wasn't the best course of action right then.

"He's your son, Professor," he said. "I'm sure he'd love to come teach at your school."

Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back upon seeing her face lose some of its tension. McGonagall let out a heavy breath and sat back on her chair, bringing one hand to rub her eyes under her glasses.

After a minute, she spoke. "Even now, the thought that I am Headmistress seems bizarre."

Harry could relate. A part of him still expected to see Professor Dumbledore whenever he walked into this office.

He looked to his left. There, at the wall, Albus' portrait gave him a cheerful wave, and presented him with a floating boat made of smoke from its pipe.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Professor Dumbledore seems to have started smoking in his death."

McGonagall chuckled, following his gaze to her predecessor's portrait. "Professor Dippet's unhealthy influence, no doubt. They've been spending a lot of time together, recently."

They shared a moment of companionable silence, each reminiscing about a man they'd both looked up to.

"What subject do you hope to have Peter teach?"

She returned her eyes to him. "Professor Turner has recently expressed a desire to retire. I was hoping Peter would take over."

Potions, then. Nothing less for the son of Alexander Trismegistus, but Harry knew the man to be well qualified in other branches of magic, too.

"You'd think an alchemist of his stature wouldn't consider teaching beginner level potions to schoolkids worthwhile."

"Not so," she argued. "Peter has always enjoyed teaching. I know he'll be great at it. That is, if he accepts."

One last push, then. "Your children love you, Professor. Regardless of what happened between you and their father."

She gave him a smile. Contrary to popular belief, McGonagall had a soft side, and Harry was glad to have been witness to it so many times.

"Thank you, Potter. You give an old woman comfort."

"You don't do yourself justice, Professor. Why, if I were but ten years older-"

"What is it with Gryffindor alumni and this line? Why do I have to hear this again and again?"

Harry smiled at her dismayed expression. "Well, that only goes to show that-"

"Enough of your cheek, Potter! I'm sure you could be more useful somewhere else than trying my patience."

One quick look at the rather old grandfather clock in a corner had Harry's eyebrows meeting his hairline. "Huh, I am rather late, now that you mention it. I should get going."

Harry collected the files, shrunk them and stuck in his coat's inner pocket. He rose, and so did McGonagall. They shook hands.

"Thank you for seeing me."

"Thank you for coming."

With a final nod, he turned and went for the door. Just as he was opening it, he heard her voice again.

"Oh, and Potter?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I find myself fighting the urge to give you some advice regarding your recent activities. If I may?"

"If you _must_ , Professor."

Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed in a thin, concerned line. "You're playing a dangerous game." Seeing him about to speak, she cut him off. "Don't pretend this is anything but your doing. I can recognize one of your schemes from miles away. You really haven't changed. However, this has the potential to hurt someone, and not all wounds are easily healed."

"I won't hurt her, Professor. I promise you."

"Miss Greengrass can take care of herself, I have faith in that. But she's not the only one that could get hurt from this, Potter."

Harry's fingers tightened around the doorknob.

"Good day, Professor."

Her muttered reply was lost over the noise of the closing door.

 **~H~**

Harry smiled down at the house elf that opened the door and bowed deeply.

"Welcomes, Master Potter."

Harry didn't comment on his apparent promotion from Mister to master. "Good evening, Trixy."

The elf's big eyes went wide as saucers. "Master … Master Potter remembered."

Harry smiled again, patting the elf on her head. "Of course."

The elf wiped at her eyes with a hand before squirming backwards and away from his hand. "I is sorry, Trixy is keeping Master Potter from where he musts be. Master be expecting you. Following me now, sir."

Harry said nothing as she led him through the manor, though he did look around at the various paintings and tasteful furniture that lined the hallways. The Greengrass family had taste, that much he'd readily admit. He thanked Trixy when she showed him a door and bowed before quickly popping away.

Inside was a small, comfortable study, lit up by a small fireplace and a few candles. Fabio was sitting in one of the armchairs and rose when Harry entered. The two shook hands.

"Welcome, Mister Potter."

"Good evening to you, Mister Greengrass."

The elder man motioned for him to sit on the armchair next to his and Harry did so after placing his coat over the armrest.

Fabio pursed his lips, finger tapping against a glass of what Harry recognized as White Dragoon. "I would like you to call me Fabio, at least behind closed doors."

Harry raised an eyebrow, the memory of their last meeting still fresh on his mind. "I didn't know we were on first name basis. If we are, I'll insist you call me Harry."

"I would like us to be," he said. "I had a … talk, with my daughter. A change in strategy has been decided."

Well, that was refreshingly honest of him. Harry decided to humor the man.

"And where is Daphne?" he asked, making an exaggerated motion of looking around. "Still preparing, I take it?"

Fabio shook his head. "My daughter is waiting."

"What for?"

"For us to conclude our discussion. I would like for us to talk."

Again, Harry was surprised by the man's forwardness, not at all like what he'd been previously. He could play ball, however warily, if that were the case.

"I'll insist that you share a drink with me, this time." Fabio's wand appeared in his hand and a glass was summoned, filled, and floated over to Harry, who plucked it out of the air. He sniffed the contents, taking in the rich odour of White Dragoon, before toasting Fabio and bringing it to his lips. No reason to decline.

"What has brought about this change in strategy, Fabio?"

"I have been advised, by both my daughter and people that I trust, that the only way to deal with you and be treated fairly is complete transparency. I have agreed. I will conduct all further dealings between us with an open hand."

Harry took in his words, watching Fabio carefully. The man stared back at him, waiting for Harry to reach whatever conclusions he might.

"You think me naive," Harry said after half a minute. Fabio nodded.

"Naive, and clumsy besides. You are new to this. You make grand, sweeping gestures and statements. You think in absolutes. It has worked for you in the past. One might even say that such an attitude had been necessary, but it is restricting you now."

Well, at least he wasn't kidding about being honest.

"What is the purpose of this conversation, Fabio? I don't see how this is meant to sway me."

"It's not," he said, shaking his head. "I leave any such further efforts up to my daughter."

"What, then, if not this?"

His brow furrowed. Not quite a frown, but close. "You think us greedy, selfish people," he noted. "You assume we put the reputation of the family and the expansion of our vault over the well-being and happiness of our daughter."

Harry did not interrupt, only waited for Fabio to complete his thought process.

"I admit that I am not sure how to change your mind on this," he said after taking a sip from his glass. "Any attempt I make to convince you that the goal is the happiness of Daphne herself as well as any future generations of my family will seem apologist at best, excuses at worst. The concepts at play require nuance that you have not nurtured, and the absence of which you can not recognize."

Harry drank a bit, enjoying the rich, caustic taste. Fabio's selection could not be denied.

"What are you going to do, then?" He wouldn't be saying all this had he no plan, or something to follow up with.

"I see no choice but to assume the role you've crafted for me. We might disagree on why I would do so, but the end result will be the same."

More words, fanciful by themselves but ultimately affecting nothing immediate. "Is that all?"

"I wanted you to know that I withdraw my disapproval. Whatever is to happen, I leave up to Daphne's judgment and your discretion."

"And what brought _that_ decision about?"

Fabio's lips quirked in a small smile. "Let's just say that your grand gesture in the Ciel did not go unnoticed. Your potential contributions to the family have been noted. In light of this, opposition seems counter-productive."

Harry nodded along. He'd expected something along these lines. But something didn't sit well with him. It seemed … too neat. Too easy a conclusion to reach.

"Is that the truth?"

Fabio regarded him for a few seconds. "It is as close to the truth as I can give that you would accept. It will have to do, for now."

Harry inclined his head, not willing to push any further. He went for a drink, but found his glass empty, much to his surprise.

"A refill, perhaps?" Fabio asked, twirling his wand. Harry nodded. For being nearly as strong as firewhiskey, White Dragoon went down much easier.

Harry accepted with a nod, and the glass refilled itself with a wave of Fabio's wand. They toasted after Fabio refilled his own.

"I didn't much care for your mother at first, you know," Fabio said after a minute of silence, staring into his glass.

"Oh?"

He nodded. "Not that I had anything against her personally, of course. I didn't even know her. I just knew that my intended was known friends with a mudblood, and that irked me."

Harry's fingers clenched around his glass, and the air suddenly felt heavy. Fabio looked up, feeling the chill in the atmosphere.

"In the spirit of transparency, _Fabio_ ," Harry said, "I will _politely_ request that you refrain from calling my mother that derogatory term ever again, at least in my presence."

Fabio looked sheepish, if not outright embarrassed. "Forgive me. Slip of the tongue."

Harry said nothing. Fabio took that as encouragement to go on.

"As I was saying, I knew that my wife to be was friends with a muggleborn, and I assumed it would reflect badly on our eventual union. I spoke to her about it, requesting that she cut ties with people that could jeopardize the marriage." He smiled, his eyes not really focusing on Harry. "That was the first time I had a fight with Karina, and what a fight it was indeed. She was fiercely protective of this Lily Evans. Even though I hadn't talked to Lily personally, I could respect the loyalty she'd inspired in a person I held at such a high esteem. Later on, I got to know her myself. We got on well enough."

Harry tilted his head a little. "You must have been sad when she died."

"Reasonably so," Fabio said, and his voice showed the shrug that his shoulders didn't. "I was always closer to your father's side of the family. But Karina was inconsolable. Yes, yes, very distraught indeed."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"We were there for their funeral, of course. Tightly controlled by the Aurors as it were, we were allowed. We did wonder as to your whereabouts."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Apologies, I seem to have gone off on a tangent. You requested previously about information regarding your parents and their connection to us, and I was trying to indulge you."

"I see. In that case, thank you."

"You are most welcome, and-" He cut off, his eyes straying to the grandfather clock in a corner of the room. "The hour has gone by. My daughter will be waiting for you by the entrance. Best not keep her waiting."

Probably a good idea. His glass was empty again, so he set it on the small table before rising to his feet and getting his coat.

"Thank you for the talk, Fabio. And for the Dragoon." He might ask around about a bottle or two for his home. Maybe see if George had any on the Peak.

"Likewise. Perhaps next time, I can tell you about the time your late grandfather saved my life."

"I'd like to hear about that. Have a nice evening." With one final nod, Harry left Fabio in the study and headed back towards the doors of the Greengrass mansion. He found Daphne there, waiting with her coat on her gloved hand, and they exchanged greetings.

He gave her a better look after bringing her knuckles up to his lips. She was impeccable, vibrant, and intimidating in her beauty. As expected. Her dress, while not particularly revealing, was a shade of deep red that reminded him of the Gryffindor common room and made him wonder if she wore a matching set underneath it. He quickly ended that line of thinking. Even under the privacy of his own mind, that was dangerous territory.

He did also note her hairstyle, flowing in carefully arranged tresses down her back, but lacking the physics defying characteristics that he knew she was partial to.

"You received my owl, then," he noted. "I was worried when I got no reply."

"Was asking me not to use magic on my hair a way of demeaning me, Potter? I assure you, I am not so easily discomforted."

Harry rubbed the back of his head, not sure quite what to say. "That's not exactly what I asked, but anyway. You look beautiful."

"You expected otherwise?"

"No, but it still bears mention. Shall we go?"

"Where to, tonight?"

"Few things top the Ciel, so I'm not going to try. Simple dinner; sound good?"

She nodded, putting her coat on and wrapping her arm around his elbow as they left the grounds. Harry Disapparated them, mid-stride, as soon as they'd cleared the gate. They Apparated on a sidewalk of a street in London and continued their step with but a soft pop to mark their passing. If Daphne was impressed by the display of skill, she did not show it.

She appeared unperturbed by the city around her. Well-dressed muggles walked hastily this way and that, cars going about their business on the road. Harry led Daphne down the sidewalk, looking at the parked cars as they passed them. The rental office he'd talked to earlier that day had agreed to leave it here.

He found the car without much trouble, a black beauty with two seats that was fancy enough to fit in at their destination but not expensive enough to really draw attention. He fished the key they'd given him out of his coat pocket and unlocked it by pressing a button.

Daphne was looking at the car weirdly. "What are we doing in front of this machine, Potter?"

"It's a car. Muggles use it to move around."

"This is their transportation device?" she asked with some surprise, looking at it from one edge to the other. She didn't seem impressed. "How does it work?"

"It's like a carriage, only it doesn't require an animal or magic to operate it. It has a machine inside it that moves it."

"I fail to see how we'll both fit inside that. No doubt even if we do it'll be uncomfortable."

Harry chuckled. True, the car did look rather small. But he'd been inside and knew that not to be the case. "You'd be surprised."

"How do I enter?"

He opened the door and talked her through the proper way of sitting on the passenger seat. Though not charmed, the leather seats should be comfortable enough. He considered telling her that, but in the end held off.

Harry had gotten his license a few years back at Hermione's insistence, and came to agree with his friend on their occasional usefulness not too long after. He got in the driver's seat and closed the door, starting up the car.

Daphne was still looking around in fascination. "Is it charmed to create more space?"

"No. It looks smaller from the outside because it's closer to the ground, but it's actually pretty spacious. Consider it an optical illusion."

She gave a curt nod, letting the matter rest. "What is that noise?"

"That is the engine that moves the vehicle."

"Crude, noisy invention," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Harry ignored her comment, a thought coming to him. "Put on your seat-belt."

"Excuse me?"

"Here, let me-" He reached towards her, his hand reaching for the seatbelt by her head.

Seeing him move thusly and leaning over her, Daphne slapped his hand away. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

Harry pulled back his stinging hand. "Ow, what the- what'd you do that for?"

"You were about to accost me."

"I was reaching for the belt, it's just there."

She followed the direction his finger was pointing, seeing the clip of the belt. "How does it work?"

"Don't slap me again," he warned as he leaned closer again. Daphne looked about to, but she did manage to keep her hands to herself while he drew the belt over her and clipped it in place. She looked down at the material pressing against her, testing it with her fingers. He quickly put on his own seatbelt and started the car again.

"This is demeaning, Potter," she said as the car started moving and joined the others in the light traffic.

"Deal with it."

"What is it even supposed to do?"

"Protect you in case of a crash."

"I fail to see how a thin stripe of fabric would help in such a situation."

"Good thing it doesn't require your faith to work."

"How do I remove it again?"

"I'll show you once we get there."

"Can you not use a protection charm instead? I refuse to be subjected to this invasive thing any longer."

"Look, if law enforcement sees you without it, I'd get in trouble."

She glared at him. "You can just confound the Muggles."

He shook his head a couple times. "Then I'd have to fine _myself_. I'm Head Auror, remember?"

She snorted. "Of course you'd fine yourself for a slight you'd be the only witness to."

Harry smiled. "You say that as an insult, but I consider it a compliment."

"I call it stupidity."

Regardless of how stupid she thought him, she stopped pestering him about the belt and directed her glare out the window, arms crossed.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Traffic was a little worse than he'd expected. Their reservations might have been slightly delayed.

After a bit, Harry broke the quiet. "I spoke with your father earlier."

She turned her head to look at him. "So you did."

"We cleared some things up," he said with a nod. "I didn't see your mom though."

"Mother is away on business tonight."

"Right, right. And Astoria?"

"Are you checking up on us? Should I have a lawyer present?"

"I'm just asking, Daphne."

She said nothing for a few seconds, but did eventually reply. "She's meeting with Malfoy tonight."

"I heard her engagement to Draco was made public recently."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's Draco now, is it?"

He shrugged. "We're not friends, but we know each other. How's Astoria taking it?"

"The marriage was decided quite a while ago. We've been in negotiations with the Malfoys for months."

"But how did _Astoria_ take it?"

"She's happy."

She sounded sincere enough to Harry. Huh. Could the little ferret actually have game?

"She loves him, then?"

"What?" Daphne sounded genuinely confused. "Don't be ridiculous."

He blinked, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes on the road. "But you just said she's happy."

She threw a glare his way, lips pursed and brows furrowed. "I don't expect you to understand, Potter."

He pursed his own lips. "Is Astoria really okay with marrying him?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"Do I need a reason to be worried for others?"

She let out an exaggerated sigh, as if very pointedly refusing to answer the question.

"Well, do not be. She will be fine."

"If you're sure."

"Trust me, Potter. Astoria can handle Malfoy."

He said nothing else, trusting her judgement when it came to her little sister.

Thankfully, their destination wasn't far, so Harry quickly pulled inside the driveway of the restaurant, passing his car keys and a twenty pound note to a valet. He went around, opening the door for Daphne and helping her out of the car, which she accepted without any fuss, easily slipping back into the role of escort.

There were a few stairs to walk to the actual entrance of the restaurant, appropriately lit up and while it couldn't be compared to the Ciel in sheer majesty, it had its own charm. The dining area inside spoke of sophistication of a rather minimalistic approach. It was well-lit, but arranged in such a way as to appear dim, giving each of the tables a sense of privacy. Well-dressed, immaculate waiters were coming and going. One bowed to them right after they entered, asking them to follow him to their table after Harry gave his name.

What followed was, to Harry, rather unnecessary and extravagant, but he appreciated the thought. The waiter described the few special dishes the chef had available that night, answered any questions they had and took their order before bowing and leaving them alone. The meal came in courses; several of them, not to mention that an actual sommelier had come to their table to give wine suggestions.

It didn't take long for Harry to notice that something was wrong. Or several somethings, at least. After quite a while, Daphne had barely touched her food or her wine, and had refused to look at anything besides her plate.

Not used to seeing her this troubled, Harry put his own fork down and twined his fingers. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She lifted her eyes to meet his own and Harry could tell, through the barest tightening of her brow and the look in her eye, that she was angry about something, much as she tried to hide it.

"I know not of what you speak."

Harry frowned. "Hiding what you're thinking isn't like you, Daphne."

"You presume to know me well enough to judge what I am like?" She could scarcely hold back the venom from her voice, though the volume of her voice hadn't risen.

Harry bit back a scathing retort. "Tell me what's bothering you, _please_."

That seemed to do it for her. Her hand clenched around her knife for a moment before she let it down. She didn't drop it or throw it or anything as undignified as that, but her displeasure was evident in the motion.

"What in _magic's name_ are we doing here, Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were having a meal."

"Do not throw cheek at me, Potter," she all but hissed at him. "This is a _muggle_ establishment. Whyever would you think that bringing me here was a good idea?"

"Can't you just enjoy the good food?"

Her glare wasn't even masked, now. "I have half a mind to start cursing you and turn this place to rubble."

"That sounds a mite illegal."

"I can also perform memory charms."

Harry let out a small sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses with his left thumb and index, before turning his gaze back at Daphne.

"Look around you, Daphne," he said, making a sweeping motion with his hand from the wrist. "Over there is an ambassador and his wife, talking with a member of the minister's cabinet. Three tables down is a famous artist, accompanied by no less than three managers. A little further back is an honest to goodness prince."

"I get it, Potter," she cut him off. "What is your point?"

"These are people that could barter in equal terms with your father, or rival you in beauty, or me in fame." Harry explained. "People who have status, power and position equal, if not greater to our own respective ones in the wizarding world. People that you should feel at least a degree of connection with. Hell, very few things separate this restaurant from the finest ones on our side, and this is something you cannot argue. Why do you have to make a bigger deal out of this?"

Daphne's expression had changed while he talked. From veiled fury, her expression switched to one of surprise, then incredulity, until he had concluded.

She lay silent for a few seconds, and he waited for her reply.

When she spoke, incredulity dominated her tone as much as it had her expression.

"None of that-," she paused uncharacteristically, shaking her head a couple times before continuing. "None of that _matters_ , Potter."

Harry's frown returned. "What do you mean?"

"Do you really understand nothing?"

Harry couldn't hide some of his annoyance at being talked down to. "Explain to me, then."

"What did you hope to accomplish by bringing me here?" she asked. Her red lips pursed, her eyes narrowed just a little. "Did you really believe that you would show me this side of the muggles, away from the bustle of their roads and machines and their ant-like scurrying, and I would change my ways? Did you honestly believe that all that holds my views aloft is some misguided idea that all muggles are uncultured savages?"

Harry pursed his own lips, aware that to speak now would be to worsen his situation, especially considering that what she was accusing him of was more or less correct.

Taking his silence as confirmation, Daphne's nostrils flared as she took a quick breath. Even in this situation, Harry's eyes could not help but wander to the sudden movement the sharp intake caused, accentuated by her dress. All the same, he did not allow himself to get distracted.

"I am not as uninformed as you think I am," she said, voice icy. "Nor are most pureblooded families. Our issue does not stem from the fact that muggles lack refinement, or any sort of common ground with people like us."

"What then, if not that?"

Daphne clicked her tongue, something that Harry had come to recognize in recent days. "Why should I have to explain-"

"To set me straight," he cut her off, ignoring her indignant expression. "If I'm wrong," he continued "Tell me why."

She huffed and took a quick sip of her wine. "Have it your way," she said after a few seconds. "The short of it is, we are different species."

Harry scowled. "You know that's not-"

"Magic help me Potter, if you interrupt me _one more time_."

Harry didn't notice instantly, but her silver knife had been stabbed into the table in a sudden, snakelike motion, all the way to the part where she was still holding the grip. For her to lash out like that, she must have been quite … incensed. Harry decided that maybe he should do the prudent thing and let her speak without interruption.

"Go on," he said.

With one last glare, she continued. "Muggles lack _magic_ , Potter. Before you say something moronic again, I do not mean merely the ability to wield magic like we do. Muggles lack something fundamental, something inside them, that makes them reject magic from ever being a part of their world."

Harry wasn't sure he understood, and it must have showed on his face.

"Most of the time, the various ministries don't necessarily have to interfere, even in cases where magic has been blatantly used. As Head Auror, you must be aware of this, correct?"

It wasn't as simple as she made it sound, but Harry was aware that she was essentially right in this. He nodded.

"The muggles find explanations of their own, no matter how outlandish." She unconsciously pulled a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Harry knew this wouldn't have been possible if he hadn't asked her to not apply magic to her hair beforehand. It was distracting, in a way.

"They simply refuse to believe in anything impossible to explain," she said. "They are never content with not knowing something or not being in control. By their very nature, they are unable to respect the whims of nature and magic, viewing them only as challenges to be overcome." She wet her throat with some more wine and rearranged her posture, crossing her hands under her chest.

"They are not simply incapable of using magic, Potter. They lack magic in its most fundamental form." Her tone was that of a reluctant teacher with a rather dim child. "By their nature, they lack _wonder_. Not only do they not recognize and respect the whims of the world and magic like we do, but neither do they accept it as a force much greater than us. Their arrogant countenance and clinical, detached view of the world is something I can never forgive."

She paused, wetting her throat once again, before turning weighed eyes on him. Dark grey met light green, and Harry did not let his expression change. He felt that she had yet more to say.

"If Granger and her ilk had their way," Daphne went on, and now her tone carried the genuine disgust that Harry had come to associate with purebloods and hated more than most things. "They would turn our world into that same place without wonder. If she were allowed real power to effect change, she would turn us into muggles who simply have one more useful ability."

The brief silence that fell was weighed, and in the end it was Daphne that broke it.

"Understand this and understand this well, Potter. We are _not_ muggles who can wave a stick and make something happen. We are different. Perhaps not _more_ , if that sort of opinion makes you angry, but we are fundamentally different at a basic level."

Harry waited patiently for a few more seconds, taking long sips of his wine, perhaps doing the incredibly expensive bottle a disfavor. "Are you done?" he asked after a while.

She considered for a few seconds. "I believe so."

"It's kind of funny that you brought up Hermione," he said, making actual effort to keep his tone conversational and perhaps failing. "Considering that she was going to be my example of exactly why you are wrong."

She scoffed. "I know her kind." This was followed by a dismissive wave of her hand. "Her and other presumably smart mudbloods come into our world and have the _gall_ to presume to change it for what they assume is the better. With nary a decade of familiarity, they assume they have the right to judge millennia of tradition and lifestyle and try to force their muggle ideals down on us. It is _them_ who are merely muggles who can wield magic, Potter, and it is a disgusting sight to see. A travesty and an insult to everything magic is supposed to stand for."

"You know nothing about Hermione," Harry said, eyes narrowed and some anger finally finding its way to his voice. "And you know nothing about the rest of the muggleborns, either. You just dismiss them based on their first reactions upon entry into the magical world."

"Am I wrong in this, then?"

"In your initial assessment? Perhaps not," he conceded. "But can you really blame them? Our world is a place as strange as it is beautiful. I should know, I was raised as a muggle before I came to Hogwarts."

Daphne froze, eyes going slightly wide and mouth left slightly open. "You … you are joking, surely?"

"I'm not, but that's not the issue here. The point is, the world they enter is very different, and it is everyone's knee jerk reaction to try to make things a bit more familiar, or try to apply standards and principles they are familiar with to places they might not belong in." A small pause, for another quick drink. "But ... that doesn't last forever. Not long after you've judged them, dismissed them and put them out of your mind, the muggleborns become familiar with this world and integrate. Their connection to the muggle world fades, and in the end they are as much wizards as me or you."

"I refuse to believe that."

"Then you are blind," Harry accused. ""You remain stuck in your idea of them from years ago and refuse to see them as the people they are now. As _wizards_."

They glared at each other for a few moments, not with the loud grimace of ordinary people, but with the quiet, masked intensity of those keenly aware of their position and place. Harry didn't like this. He didn't like limiting himself and masking his feelings and actions. Nevertheless, it was something he'd gotten used to in recent years.

"You know Daphne, this conversation has been illuminating in many ways." Harry took to gently rapping his fingers on the edge of the table, a tiny motion that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. "We are much more alike than I had initially thought."

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "I highly doubt that."

Harry's lips curled in a fake, bitter imitation of a smile. "Oh, but we are. See, we have both been judging parts of the general population with incomplete, inaccurate information and hypocritical prejudices."

Harry stopped the jerky motions of his fingers and lay them flat against the table.

"However," he continued. "We are also different. Because where I have come to understand this fact and am making efforts against it, you seem content to wallow in your ignorance."

Daphne looked at him for a few seconds, face inscrutable, the only sign of her true feelings being her gloved hand, curled into a fist and shaking almost imperceptibly.

After a minute of silence, she carefully pushed away her plate. Harry looked at it; she'd hardly touched her food at all.

Daphne pushed her chair back and shouldered her handbag as she stood up.

"I'll be taking my leave," she said, tone level but carrying an underlying edge to it. "Thank you for your invitation tonight, Head Auror."

Several thoughts went through Harry's mind in the small span of time during which Daphne got up, inclined her head and walked away. Should he also get up? Should he go after her? Convince her to stay?

In the end he said nothing, only twined his fingers over his mouth, elbows leaning against the table, and watched her go with crisp, quick steps, until she was gone from his sight.

A discreet look around the room confirmed the fact that Daphne's sudden departure had not gone unnoticed. Everyone was looking at him, with varying degrees of shamelessness. Whispers reached his ears of how he'd been ditched.

He repressed a groan. Perfect. Now he was being made a fool of in the Muggle world, too. He looked down at his food, half-eaten still, but unsurprisingly didn't feel particularly hungry. He forced himself to at least try and eat. This place didn't come cheap, and he didn't want to just walk out after a show like that.

"Perhaps," the voice of the well-dressed waiter surprised Harry by its proximity, and he almost jumped at the sound. He raised his eyes to look at him. The man kept his hands in proper position and his head bowed, but there was sympathy in his small smile and alert eyes. His hand moved and took the wine provider by the sommelier earlier.

"If I may be so bold, perhaps the gentleman would like something … stronger?"

Harry considered the man's suggestion. Eventually he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his left hand and motioning the man to go ahead with the other.

"Sure."

 **~TMC~**


	5. Step 3,5: Counterattack

**.**

 **~TMC~**

 **STEP 3.5: Counterattack**

 **~TMC~**

Harry had never been a big fan of ice cream.

Well, perhaps that was not completely accurate. It would be more fair to say that he'd never had the opportunity to grow a particular taste for it. Living with the Dursleys meant that for the first ten or so years of his life sweets were something he never had, but saw the effects of on his cousin. While never turning him off sweets in general, watching his cousin grow almost as wide as he was tall did instill a sense of restraint when he did eventually have access to anything he might want to eat.

Hogwarts itself very rarely offered ice cream. Thus, the only opportunities he'd had to taste it had been his few visits to Diagon Alley and the occasional Hogsmeade visit, though there was usually other candy he'd rather get from Honeydukes. Those things, adding to the fact that for most of his school years he was rather occupied to be taking strolls in Diagon Alley meant that the times he'd tasted ice cream were few and far between, counted mostly during the summer before his third year when he'd stayed in the Leaky Cauldron for a time. Harry enjoyed ice cream, but couldn't really say that he'd had tons of experience with it.

For all that, he appreciated the opportunities he had to taste it all the more. Plus, eating a big sundae was definitely one of the better ways to smooth things over in his mind whenever his mood was down.

No surprise, then, that he'd headed straight for Fortescue's after he finished work, the day after the debacle with Daphne.

One of the better things that had come in recent years, what with Harry's work and position in the Auror Office, was that he now commanded the respect of the general population, rather than simply being a celebrity for people to stare at or approach. He was no longer just a rare spectacle or a rumored savior. He was Head Auror, and the face of the Auror Office.

Because of this, he could sit on a table outside of Fortescue's in clear view of the Alley and not be bothered by anyone, save perhaps a deferential bow of the head or a distant greeting.

Some could (and some _did_ ) call him boring for eating a simple vanilla strawberry combo when there were so many different ingredients and combinations available, but Harry had never had the time or opportunity to experiment, so he simply went with what he knew he'd like.

Still, he couldn't say that he enjoyed it terribly. His sundae waited on the small table, half-eaten and forgotten. No doubt it would have melted under the waning sunlight if it weren't for magic preventing it from doing so.

Harry was too lost in his thoughts to care too much about finishing his sweet. Even now, he couldn't muster up any enthusiasm or appetite for it.

His thoughts kept going around in circles. Why didn't he go after her, the previous night? He should have at least tried to smooth things over and perhaps salvage the date. He'd known, coming into this, that Daphne wasn't a person he'd find a lot of common ground with, yet he'd still managed to botch things up spectacularly.

The previous night had revealed to Harry some truths about himself. Ugly things that he didn't care to admit but was forced to, in light of recent events.

The first truth was that he was arrogant. That wasn't something he'd thought he'd ever be guilty of. With his background and school years, there hadn't been too much room or time for arrogance. No, he was sure he hadn't been guilty of this at age eighteen. This characteristic was a recent acquisition, borne of constant success in all endeavors.

Well, almost all, but the point stood. He'd assumed he knew the root of Daphne's dislike of muggles. He'd thought it was merely ignorance of modern muggles that made her think as she did. Sort of similar but opposite to Mister Weasley, in a sense, who loved muggles but couldn't for the life of him understand them. That assumption had been terribly arrogant of him, and had led to a spectacular screw-up in his stupid attempt to get Daphne to look at things his way.

He'd dug his grave when he allowed himself to be pulled into an argument. He'd been right - of course he'd been right - but that wasn't the point. He should never have allowed this to devolve into an argument in the first place. He and Daphne looked at the world in very different ways, and he should have focused all his efforts into bringing their common interests to the forefront or learning more about each other, not argue about conflicting ideologies.

He knew how much he and Daphne disagreed. Hell, finding common ground with her on anything was hard. She was just so … opposite of what he knew or was used to. Approved of, even. He still wasn't sure if things could be made to work out between them, but he also knew that he was the only one who might actually try. She definitely wouldn't. So he'd forced himself to look past her attitude and views, and try to understand her as a person. Letting his temper get the better of him and getting dragged into an argument about muggleborns was the worst thing he could have done, regardless of how much he wanted to correct her. Really, her walking away was one of the most peaceful outcomes of such a scenario.

The second truth came into play then. He was a coward. After botching everything, he let her go. He just … let her walk away. He wasn't sure if there was anything he could have said or done to fix the situation, but now he'd never find out. Here he was, youngest Head Auror in the history of the Ministry, vanquisher of Voldemort, owner of all three Deathly Hallows, afraid of one woman walking away.

He'd been angry, too, and the anger was much more prevalent at the time than the fear. Sitting at Fortescue's and thinking back on the incident calmly, he couldn't decide if he stayed still because he was afraid of failing to calm her, or because he was too angry to even _try_. Neither option pleased him.

"Harry?"

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. He looked up, his brain not quite making the connection between voice and personality until he was looking at the person who addressed him.

His eyes widened as he blinked in surprise.

"Hello, Ginny."

She smiled at him; a warm, friendly smile. Harry looked at her a bit more carefully. She'd forgone a robe, taking advantage of the surprisingly good day, dressed in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket. She looked … good. Beautiful. Just as he remembered. Adulthood had done wonders for Ginny Weasley, as had a quite successful professional Quidditch career.

"Would you like some company?"

He focused his attention on her face. Freckles just where he remembered, dimples exactly where he knew they'd be. He focused on her eyes, seeing some apprehension there.

He pursed his lips.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked.

She shrugged, perhaps _too_ casually to be truly casual. "Not right now. So?"

He motioned to the chair across from him. Much as he thought this might be a bad idea, he couldn't exactly refuse her without sounding extremely rude. She sat, crossing her legs and regarding him, fiery red hair framing her face and falling over her shoulders.

"How have you been?" she asked. "We haven't talked in a while."

 _That's an understatement_ , Harry thought, but didn't say. The last time they actually spoke beyond cordial greetings and Weasley family gatherings, they had exchanged harsh, loud words. A couple hexes, too. He doubted she'd forgotten, either.

"Good," he said in reply. "Busy."

She nodded. "You missed my game last week."

Harry looked to the right, at the bustling Alley. "I couldn't make it. I came to the game two weeks ago though. And the one before that."

She nodded again. "That you did."

"I caught it on the Wireless later," he admitted, a small smile finding its way to his lips. "Sounded like you gave them a good thrashing."

She grinned. "Bloody right we did."

"Some folks over at Sports have been namedropping you, by the way."

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh? Whatever for?"

"Guess."

"Surely not the national team?"

He nodded as he took a sip of water.

"Harry, that's great news!"

"Not really, considering the current state of the team. You could sign up and instantly be the best player on hand."

She snorted. "I don't want to hear that from someone who hasn't been on a broom in, what, a decade?"

Harry arched an eyebrow at her exaggeration. "I could still fly circles around you, little Weasley."

"Oh Harry," she said, tone as condescending as she could make it while tapping his hand with hers, "it's so cute that you think that."

Harry grinned, and she did too, and both started chuckling in mirth.

Harry looked at her, and indeed a part of him ached. His chest felt heavy. He and Ginny Weasley had always fit well together. Too well, perhaps. They'd got on so seamlessly and perfectly that when the first real issues hit them, they had no way to deal with it and fractured harder and faster than a collapsing building.

Even now, long after everything was over, he couldn't help but wonder what might have been.

"Alright," she said, changing the subject, leaning forward on the table and pulling him from his depressing musings. "What's got you so busy lately, eh?"

"Don't remind me," he said with a groan. "Tomorrow I have to go to France and listen to people repeat things we've known for months and tiptoeing around solutions we _know_ will be necessary."

"Sounds like a rough break," she noted with a sympathetic smile. "How much can you tell me?"

Ginny and he had been together long enough that she knew a big chunk of what he did couldn't be repeated outside the Ministry.

"Some," he said, and proceeded to explain the basics of the situation with Trevisan's organization, keeping his actual name out of the conversation. The level of sophistication in his empire would require investigative and enforcing teams of several nations to take down in one blow. Harry could explain some bits, about some raids he'd conducted and how many problematic situations seemed to tie together, though none of the actual significance behind the scenes. Ginny listened with rapt attention, giving him encouraging words when appropriate.

At the end of his rant, Harry was feeling much lighter. Ginny always had that effect on him, somehow. She'd known how to make him feel better, no matter what troubled him. They'd had some good times together.

His keen eyes caught her own, and in her friendly expression he noted an undercurrent of purpose. Of expectation.

He let out a sigh. The good times between him and Ginny Weasley were long over.

"Why are you here, Ginny?"

She blinked a couple times, surprised. Harry didn't miss the slightest hint of color on her freckled cheeks.

"I just saw you sitting alone and thought I'd say hello. We can still say hi, right?"

Harry said nothing, looking at her with pursed lips, waiting. She knew him at least as well as he knew her. She must have known that this wouldn't be enough.

Her shoulders drooped slightly in a defeated manner as she released a heavy breath. In the next inhalation she regained her bearings, turning suddenly determined eyes to him. Good.

"Fine, then," she said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go on."

"I wanted to know if it's true, about the rumors I heard."

Harry frowned. "There are always rumors about me, Ginny."

Her own face hardened. He'd never liked that expression. "The rumors about Greengrass. Are they true?"

Harry sighed again, bringing his left hand to rub at his eyes under his glasses, hoping to avoid getting a headache.

"Must we do this now, Gin?" he asked. "Must we do this at _all_?"

When he received no reply for a few seconds he opened his eyes and looked at her after adjusting his glasses. She had the faintest of smiles on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"You called me Gin," she said, lips opening into a wider smile. Harry groaned again.

"Look, Ginny-"

"Don't get worked up," she cut him off, raising a hand in a placating gesture. "I didn't come here to upset anyone. Harry, I care about you."

Harry looked at her with open suspicion. "Say your piece, Ginny, and it better be something more relevant than a long-finished conversation.""

For her part, the Weasley didn't seem too deterred. "It just seemed very … weird. You haven't dated anyone seriously or continuously since … well, us, and now Greengrass?"

"Are you keeping tabs on me?"

This time it was Ginny who sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You're best man to two of my brothers," she noted. "My mum thinks of you as her son in all but name and still hasn't gotten over the fact that we're no longer together. My dad and brothers seem to agree." She gave him a significant look. "You come up in conversation."

Fine. Maybe she was right. Still, what sort of question was that? How was he meant to answer a question like that to his ex?

Seeing his hesitation, Ginny spoke again.

"Look, Harry. We got on great, didn't we? We had some good times?" At his tentative nod, she continued, a small, hopeful smile on her face. "We were also pretty good friends, if you remember. Even before we were … together. We were _friends_ ," she repeated, emphasizing the word.

Harry got what she was trying to say, but he still wasn't truly convinced. Ginny wasn't a great liar. She wasn't telling him the whole truth. Still, he could give her the benefit of the doubt, if for no other reason than for the sake of their shared history.

So he told her some parts of the story. He played down the contract as insignificant beyond drawing his attention, but otherwise kept the reality of him and Daphne accurate. It felt weird to Harry, speaking about this matter with Ginny. Even ignoring the awkwardness between them, she was neither Ron nor Hermione, the two people he could honestly say he was closest to in the world. But even still, he found that once he started speaking, it was hard to stop.

He ended up giving Ginny the highlights of the first two dates, if for no other reason than to let her cross-reference with the rumors. Then, he told her of the disastrous third date.

Admitting his folly to a woman, one he respected no less, made him feel rather embarrassed. At the same time, memory of Daphne's comments forced him to fight his resurfacing temper.

Ginny listened all the while, making no comment, taking in all he wanted to share and letting him get it out of his chest.

"That was yesterday?" she asked after the conclusion of his recounting, to which he nodded. Finally done, he slumped into his seat. His eyes landed on his sundae and he threw a betrayed look at Ginny, who had taken it on hand and almost finished it off.

"That's mine," he protested.

"Not anymore," she said, spoon still held between her lips. "I need ice cream to process this."

He made a show of letting out a long-suffering sigh as he sat up straighter, making an effort to pop his back, pretending not to notice her dismayed expression.

"I do have one question," she said eventually, her tone impressively level.

"Yes?"

"Why her?"

Harry shrugged. "I couldn't really tell you. I guess it was convenient, what with the contract and everything."

"I dunno, Harry." She took to tapping her bottom lip with the spoon as she considered. "Of the people with which to re-enter the dating scene, Greengrass is probably on the bottom of pretty much everyone's expected list."

"Shows how much people know, doesn't it?"

She flinched. "Ouch. Yeah maybe, but still. You must have known how different the two of you were. You must have expected it to come to this eventually, right? It's a good thing you didn't come to blows."

Harry had no readily available answer to this. "I suppose I did."

"Yet you tried anyway," she noted. "There must have been some thought behind it. It's not like you find her views endearing or even partially logical."

"Of course not!"

"You go to all this trouble and put up with her, well, excluding that one time when you insulted her to her face-"

"Please don't mention that."

"-but other than that, you seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble for a woman who shouldn't command so much respect from you."

"I don't know, alright?" he said, frustration coloring his voice. "I just … I think something good might come of this. Might be stupid, might be hopeless, but I want to try, you know?"

She was watching him as he spoke, nodding along. "Yeah," she murmured. "I do."

Harry's eyes widened a bit, noting hints of something he hadn't expected to hear in her voice. _Hurt_.

"Ginny-"

"So what will you do now?" she asked, cutting him off. She wore a smile, but Harry knew her well enough to know it wasn't genuine. Still, he didn't insist.

"What do you mean?"

"After yesterday," she clarified. "What will you do? Give up?"

He pursed his lips, considering his words for a few seconds before shaking his head once. "No, I don't think so. I want to give this a shot. A real shot. Might lead nowhere, but I want to try."

Ginny was still looking at him, as if searching for something in his eyes and expression. "You do, don't you?" she asked, and Harry could tell it was rhetorical.

"No clue how, though," he admitted. "I'm all out of genius ideas." And how messed up was this situation, that he was basically asking his ex for advice on his love life? An ex he still didn't trust to have put the situation between them behind? Ginny Weasley was like fire; her passions burned long and hard, and that wasn't always a nice thing.

Ginny was no longer looking at him, though. Instead, her eyes were following something behind him and to the right. Before Harry could decide whether to turn around to see or not, she spoke again.

"Well, you know what Mum says about opportunities, right?" As she said this, she returned her gaze to him, and a smile graced her lips. "They're like children. Sometimes you expect them, but often you don't."

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

Ginny's chair slid along the ground until it was touching his own, and Ginny's hands were encasing his own. Her skin was soft, and Harry was distracted for half a second before the sudden closeness registered.

"Wha-"

"Oh Harry," she said, voice suddenly quite a bit louder than it was previously. A large, unnatural grin was plastered across her face. "When will you come to the Burrow to visit me?"

"Ginny, what are you-"

"I've missed you," she said. "Why don't you come over tonight and we can have a talk, just the two of us?"

She batted her eyelashes at him. _Ginny batted her eyelashes at him_. She'd never done that, not seriously at least. What the hell was going on? Harry squirmed a little in his chair, trying to put distance between them but Ginny's grip on his hand, for all that it looked tender, was like iron.

"What are you doing?" he asked, wondering how to go about saying no to whatever idea had been stuck in her head.

Her expression changed momentarily, turning from the visage of mindless flirting to a glare for a second.

"Idiot," she mumbled hurriedly. Then, using the previous voice, loud and flirtatious, she continued. "We have _so_ much to talk about, don't you think?"

Harry was unable to formulate a reply, as her delicate fingers found their way to his neck, caressing slowly as she leaned in closer. All he could do was swallow hard as he tried to understand what Ginny was thinking. They were through. Had been for a long time. What was she doing?

Her face inches away from his, Ginny spoke again. "Don't you miss us, Harry?" she asked, voice more alluring than he'd heard in a long while. "It's not too late."

She was closing the distance between them, her wet lips separating and approaching his own. She was really going for it! Harry, even confused as he was, thought about pushing her away, gently but firmly, but was too frozen to react immediately.

Before he had the chance to gather his wits, it proved unnecessary. Ginny was separated from him, rather violently, before their lips actually touched. Her chair screeched as it was dragged further and further away, almost a full table's length.

"Weasley!" Harry heard the voice, an angry hissing coming from behind him. He turned and, indeed, there she was. Daphne Greengrass, wearing a dark green coat and with her wand in hand, was gliding her way over, face locked in a murderous expression.

Harry was suddenly rather happy that the only people at the surrounding tables were an old couple that seemed much too absorbed in each other to pay attention to the scene unfolding in front of them. He only hoped that none of the passersby stayed to stare.

Daphne approached and, while she wasn't aiming her wand directly at Ginny anymore, she was still gripping it with perhaps unnecessary force.

"What do you think you are doing, Weasley?" Daphne hissed, coming to a stop next to Harry's chair.

Ginny was dusting herself off after the abrupt magical push, glaring back at Daphne.

"I was having a talk with Harry before you interrupted. Rather rudely, too. What are _you_ doing?"

Daphne pursed her lips, refusing to reply. "A talk?" she asked. "Is that what this was?"

"What's it to you?" Ginny fired back. "I was just inviting Harry over for tonight. You'll come, won't you Harry?"

Her gaze suddenly turned to him and he startled. That was a bad idea on so many levels he couldn't even begin to describe it.

"Um," he tried to stammer out a reply. "I-"

"No," Daphne interrupted him, her free hand finding its way to his shoulder and _clamping_. "He will not."

"Why not?" Ginny asked, a look of disappointment on her face.

"Potter and I are … already engaged for the night, Weasley."

It was Harry who blinked in surprise this time. He looked sideways to Daphne, throwing her a questioning look. They'd made no plans for that evening. In fact, they hadn't even spoken since she'd walked off on their last date.

He had to turn back to Ginny when she addressed him. "Is that true, Harry? You've plans already?"

"Um, actually- _ow_!"

Daphne's hand was getting rather painful on his shoulder. The blonde turned her head to look at him, her face locked into a pleasant smile even as she did her best to break his bones.

"We do, Potter, do we not? I was just on my way to our rendezvous, remember?"

"Um, right. Yes, I remember. We had plans, yes."

Ginny adopted a rather sullen expression. "Oh," she said, sounding rather crushed. "Maybe some other day, when you don't have plans?"

It was Daphne who answered for him. "I think not, Weasley." Harry didn't doubt that her voice right then could be weaponized. "You see, Potter and I are going out. For however long we choose to do so, he is _mine_. Understand? If you need it spelled out, I can oblige you."

"Sheesh," Ginny said, crossing her arms. "You're awfully defensive. Harry and I have history, you know. We were together for a long time."

"But not anymore. You had your chance, Weasley. No surprise you wasted it, honestly. Your family would not manage to keep anything valuable without losing it if it jumped inside your mudpit of a house."

She turned her eyes to Harry.

"We are leaving, Potter."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now. Get up."

Harry turned his look to Ginny. Despite everything, to just ditch her after they were talking would be rude.

"Ginny?"

She huffed, examining her fingernails with fake interest. "Don't let me keep you from your _plans_ ," she said. "We'll talk when miss ice block over there isn't around."

"Come now, Potter."

Harry barely managed to leave a few coins on the table for the sundae before she dragged him off his chair and in position next to her, and together they walked out of Fortescue's. Daphne curled her arm around his almost painfully, sticking as close to his side as was possible without making walking problematic. She looked resolutely ahead as she led him further down the alley.

Before they got too far away, Harry turned his head and looked back at Ginny. She was staring at them go with a wide grin on her freckled face. Upon noticing him looking at her, she gave him an exaggerated wink.

Harry couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips as he turned his head forward again. Weasleys would never cease to surprise him, it seemed.

He ignored Daphne's questioning look at his sudden mirth, and instead focused his thoughts on the impromptu outing. Date. Whatever this was.

"Was that necessary, Daphne?"

She squeezed his arm harder; much harder. It took quite some effort to not show discomfort in his expression.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed through her pleasant, fake smile as they walked among the people. "Consorting with the blood traitor, making plans to meet her-"

"I wasn't-"

"Did you pause to consider the shame you would bring me? People know, Potter. People talk. The fact that we are dating is no secret."

Harry grinned. "We're dating, then?"

He was sure blood flow to his arm should have completely halted by now.

"For the duration I have given my word for, aye," she replied, carefully selecting each word. Harry sighed. Magic forbid she not take everything this seriously. "Did you consider the consequences of you being seen openly fraternizing with that woman?"

"Fine, fine, whatever. You stopped me, saved your honor, yada yada. Is that it, then? Do we part here now that Ginny is fooled?"

She hesitated for a while, and their steps slowed, though they did not halt.

"No," she said eventually. "I keep my word. We will have our outing tonight, as I told the blood traitor we would. And…" she paused, the hesitation uncharacteristic and thus notable. "We need to have words. Of what happened yesterday."

Fair enough. He had been hoping to talk to her about that, actually. "Alright."

"Where to, then?"

"Hm?" He turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Where do you wish to take me tonight?"

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "Tonight is not on me. Tonight doesn't count. This was your idea. You choose."

At her sudden glare, he returned only a steady gaze. "Am I wrong?"

She held his gaze for a few seconds as they stood there, frozen in the middle of the street. To outside observers, them standing so close to each other, their heads practically touching might have even seemed romantic.

Eventually, Daphne huffed, turning her gaze forward. "Magic help me, but you are not. Fine, we shall have it your way. When did you get this devious, Potter?"

He grinned. "Perhaps I always was."

"I do not believe this."

"And I believe you should choose our destination."

She huffed again. "Be smug if you so desire, I suppose you have earned the right. Are you hungry, perchance?"

"Not particularly. You?"

She shook her head. "Then, drinks?"

"Sure, works. But where were you going before you saw me with Ginny? Aren't you being missed somewhere?"

Her brow creased with the beginnings of another glare. "Fret you not. It is _my_ business."

Harry shrugged. He let her guide him through her grip on his arm. She led through the Alley and some time later they'd reached the outskirts, where fewer people walked. This section was mostly comprised of residential buildings.

She took a sharp turn into one of the alleys and headed deeper within the buildings. Harry knew that if they kept going, they'd end up in Knockturn Alley; or at least one of its aspects. Knockturn Alley wasn't situated on this side of Diagon, but any road outside of Diagon bar the Leaky Cauldron exit led to Knockturn.

It made sense, if one really thought about it.

A few streets before Knockturn Alley proper, Daphne suddenly stopped on one side of the cobbled road, and turned. Harry turned with her, though all that was in front of him was a red brick wall.

She turned to him and smiled. "Shall we?"

If she'd expected him to flounder, she was disappointed. Harry could feel the passageway, the magic that formed it. Not very welcoming to people who didn't already know of the place, but who was Harry to judge the shopkeepers who obviously wanted it this way?

"Let's."

They walked forward together, passing straight through the wall as if it weren't there. Inside was a pub. The similarities with the Hog's Head were instantly obvious in the low lighting, minimal decor and sparse clientele, but at a second glance the differences were just as obvious. This place was obviously much cleaner and comfortable than Aberforth ever cared to make his establishment.

Only two tables had people, and Daphne pointed to one in a corner, furthest from everyone else.

"I have to say," Harry commented after they sat down, "I'm surprised you brought us here. Seems rather low-key for you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Shows what you know, does it not?"

"I suppose it does."

A middle-aged woman came to take their order, and Daphne ordered two glasses of Sweet Fireball: an ever-full shot glass of Chinese origin whose name was rather self-explanatory.

They had their first shot after a toast, and the second, before anything else was said. With the alcohol comfortingly warming him from the inside, Harry felt rather more at ease. She seemed to share his sentiment. Their gazes met, and both knew it was time.

To Harry's hidden surprise, it was Daphne who spoke first.

"I owe you an apology."

Harry blinked, swallowing what he was about to say. "Oh?"

She nodded. "I broke my word yesterday. I lost my temper and I abandoned our date. For that I am sorry."

Harry repressed the urge to sigh. Sorry for all the wrong reasons, it seemed.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I don't blame you for leaving. I lost my temper too, and I spoke much harsher words than I should. I never should have let the conversation go like that."

She gave the smallest of nods. "In hindsight, perhaps that was not the most wise of subject matter."

"I also apologize for taking you there. I admit that I miscalculated under false assumptions and lacking proper understanding of your thoughts. I'm sorry I brought you to such a position."

She nodded, clearer this time. "I accept your apology."

Harry's lips pursed. "Good, but there's one last thing we need to clear up."

"And that would be?"

"I'd like to think I've been patient," he said. "I honestly believe I've given you ample time and opportunity to realize and stop doing it by yourself. It seems not, however, so I'll have to come out and tell you."

Her brow furrowed. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"I don't mind how you refer to me," he noted. "Say whatever you want about me, and I'll laugh it off. But I won't accept further use of derogatory terms such as mudblood. They're incredibly rude relics of a bygone era, and I honestly expected better of you."

"You … will not _accept_?" she asked in disbelief. At his nod she continued, tone rising. "You presume to command me on how to conduct myself, Potter?"

"In this case? I do. I won't take no for an answer. While in my presence, at the very least, you are not to use that term ever again."

She narrowed her eyes at him, no doubt furious at being issued orders. "And if I refuse?"

Harry deliberated for a few seconds. "I could, if you force my hand, remind you that I hold all the cards and that we can very easily break our agreement if you continue being disagreeable and hostile."

An angry sound was beginning to form from deep inside Daphne's throat, but Harry raised a hand to halt her as she was about to speak.

"Hold on," he said. "I could do that, but I'd rather just appeal to you and your word."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Harry gave her a look. "You promised, Daphne. You gave your word to come into this with an open mind and do your best so that both of us might have a good time."

"And have I not?"

He shook his head. "No, you haven't. You know how much I despise that term, especially when used to describe people I know. My own mother was a muggleborn. Can't you understand that things will go smoother for both of us if you just … meet me halfway?"

Most of the fire in her expression had evaporated, and most of what was left was frustration. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"Say that you are right. What would you have me do? I cannot change myself for you, Potter. I refuse to."

"I'm not asking you to do that," he argued. "All I want is that you use more commonly accepted terms and refrain from insulting people. Do it for my sake, if nothing else."

"For … your sake?"

Harry ignored the disbelief in her voice and nodded.

"Yes. Our remaining time together will go a lot smoother if both of us are having fun, wouldn't you say? Then we will part ways and all this will be forgotten."

Daphne took some time to think, during which another pair of shots were downed, before speaking.

"Once again, Potter, you leave me no choice," she said, a faint grimace on her face. "You pretend to give me a choice and appeal to my reason, while at the same time making it clear that refusal is not a viable option."

Harry went to speak, but she stopped him by raising a hand.

"However," she said as she cut him off. "Your reasoning is valid, even without the unsubtle threats. Believe it or not, I do not particularly desire to antagonize you while we are like this. You are right in that it is in my best interests if confrontation is kept to a minimum."

"You agree, then?"

She nodded. "If I had but known it would lead to this much drama, I would have refrained in the first place. By magic, Potter, you need a thicker skin if this much is enough to get you riled up."

Harry chuckled at that, taking another shot of his ever-full glass. The worst was over.

"I think it might stem from the fact that I've had to fight the majority of people I've heard use that term at one point or another."

"Clearly," she drawled. "I aim to not join that number."

"Yeah?"

"I do like having limbs."

"Smart woman."

"Though if you continue your crusade to irk me as much as you can, hostilities will be inevitable."

Harry snorted, taking another shot as she did the same. "We can arrange that."

Daphne shook her head once, before taking another shot. A minute later, she broke the silence.

"Since I have agreed to your ridiculous demand at pain of slavery, I believe I am owed a concession of some sort."

Harry arched an eyebrow, ignoring her dig at him. "I assume you already have a particular concession in mind?"

She nodded, putting her glass down and leaning forward on the table, letting her hands rest on it as she stared at him, her hair framing her face from the right side. Her expression was … curious.

"That I do. Do I have your word for an honest answer?"

Harry grimaced. "I am a keeper of many secrets that can not be divulged."

She scowled at him. "Do not be facetious, it is unbecoming."

"If I can answer you, I will."

"Better," she allowed, taking to tapping the fingers of her right hand on her left elbow, something which Harry found oddly distracting.

"Your question?"

"What are you doing?"

"Pardon?"

"All … this. What is all this? Why go to all this trouble? What do you expect to gain from our dates?"

"Haven't we already had this conversation?"

Her lips pursed. "Indulge me. And be truthful this time."

Harry let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. "Is it that hard to believe that I lack direction in life? That I wanted to do something outside of my comfort zone?"

She tilted her head, examining him for a minute. Harry felt vaguely uncomfortable. That was meant to be a rhetorical question.

"No, I suppose not," she replied eventually. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "But even so, I do not believe that this is the course of action you would choose to take. There must be something more. I want to know. Tell me."

"Demanding, aren't you?"

She ignored him, grey eyes fixed onto his own.

Harry let out a heavy breath. "Would it make you feel better if I told you I was using these dates to accomplish an ulterior goal? One that I've kept secret from everyone?"

She blinked. "I suppose it would," she replied after a few seconds. "I could understand that far easier than the spiel you've been saying up until now, at the very least."

"Well, feel free to believe that, then."

"But is it the truth?"

It was Harry's turn to stare at her intently. "Does it matter what I say to this? You'll form your own opinion regardless."

Daphne returned his gaze evenly, before leaning a little further back.

"I suppose that is true. Would you tell me what this ulterior goal is?"

Harry shrugged, before taking another shot. "Power, money, authority, success; pick whatever you think most appropriate."

"None of those fit your profile, though I have begun to wonder as of late."

"Then make a theory. I have nothing more to say on this."

She didn't press him. Harry spent a minute avoiding her gaze, instead looking around the unfamiliar establishment.

A scraping noise drew his attention, and he turned his gaze back to Daphne, who'd drawn her chair over. Instead of directly across, she was now by his left side. He didn't mind the change, though he didn't understand why she'd do that.

"There is something else I do not understand, Potter. Would you tell me?"

"What is it?"

"You could have chosen to play this game with anyone. Yet, you chose me. Of all the women you could have chosen to help you with your … lack of purpose in life," the eyeroll was audible, even if she didn't physically perform it. "You chose _me_."

"I didn't choose you so much as had you drop into my lap. Figuratively."

"Why did you not choose the mu-..." she cut herself off abruptly. Under his amused look, she seemed to almost physically swallow her pride, finding it rather bitter.

" _Granger_ ," she said after a brief hesitation, all but forcing the word out, "or any of the blood traitors that you surround yourself with, like Bones? Or even the Weasley girl?"

"That looked painful to say."

" _Why_?"

"Hermione is married, you know."

She ignored him beyond a slight tightening of her brow.

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance at Daphne's pointed act of ignoring his attempts at deflection. She was giving him a steady stare, eyes focused and slightly narrowed. He gave a huff, unable to understand why she cared so much.

"I could have, perhaps," he said. "But then, what would have been the point of that?"

"Pardon?"

"I've done that in the past, you know. Dated women I understand, women I know and trust. The difference is, I know them. I understand how they think, what they're likely to do. I can tell where they stand and why. It … made things stale very quickly."

He stopped at that, but it seemed to not be enough for her. "Go on," she urged. "How do I tie into this?"

"I don't understand someone like you," he admitted. "There are times when you remind me so much of Draco that I want to hit you with a transfiguration reversal." Her arched eyebrow made him snort. "No, really."

"Being compared to Malfoy … how charming."

"There are times when you act just as bigoted as the people I've made it my mission to fight against. But I know how smart you are. I know how analytical and clever you can be. I know that you have values, that you can see worth in people in an objective manner."

"Congratulations, you appear to not be a bumbling, half-blind dunderhead."

He glared at her. "Do you want me to answer or not?"

She chuckled once, taking another shot before waving her arm a little towards him. "My apologies. Go on."

Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts, trying not to let her distract him from his train of thought.

"I know that you can love just as much as anyone, I know that beneath the icy exterior you can get just as excited and disappointed as any normal person. I _don't_ know how those two personalities can coexist so seamlessly. I can't explain why you do the things you do."

He turned to her, giving her a puzzled glance. "I don't understand you at all, Daphne Greengrass."

Her face was inscrutable, and perhaps if he wasn't so troubled he could have deciphered it. The shots might have helped, too, even if the drink itself wasn't particularly strong. As it was, his only indication was her perfectly raised eyebrow.

"One would think that, to someone like you, not understanding someone would mean nothing."

Harry shook his head, turning his gaze back to his drink. She didn't get it. " _Especially_ to someone like me, not understanding someone means _everything_."

After a minute of silence, Harry swiveled his head to look back at her, unnerved by the silence. What he saw unnerved him further. Daphne was smiling. It was a _nice_ smile, too.

"Daphne?"

"We need to drink something stronger, Potter."

"Uh … okay?"

She snorted. "No need for such a face. You are performing in an unexpectedly admirable fashion tonight. Get me another drink and we shall proceed, presuming you continue to conduct yourself with the same degree of eloquence."

Harry honestly didn't get it but he thought he had just been praised somehow so he went along with it, keeping his face set, even if he felt confused.

"And after that, we'll see if you can dance to something a little faster than the _Ciel_ 's pieces. Tonight, I demand entertainment."

When he eventually returned his eyes to Daphne he found her reciprocating the look with wide eyes, face surprisingly vibrant as she smiled at him.

' _Huh_ ,' he thought as her drink arrived.

It didn't take long before they left, Harry feeling the anticipation almost like a physical thing. From the speed with which she drained her glass, he assumed she felt similarly.

Harry left more than enough money on the table for both their drinks and Daphne didn't comment either to thank or reprimand. Figures.

They left shortly thereafter, finding themselves in the unmarked, empty alley.

"One moment, Potter," she told him as she let go of his arm and took a step to the side. She procured her wand, whispered something and tapped her right shoulder. Harry saw, on the parts not covered by her coat, her clothes shift. Change.

A strap snaked its way up her shoulder, coiling around her neck, only to vanish underneath the coat again. The edges of her dress drew up until they could no longer be seen, changing colors to black as they did so.

Apparently satisfied, Daphne nodded to herself before turning to him and taking his arm again.

"I'll be Apparating us this time, Potter."

Harry smiled. "By all means."

Harry felt the jarring, squeezing sensation, not being able to hold back a grimace. It'd been a while since he'd been Side-Alonged and he didn't miss the feeling of basic Apparition. Regardless, the discomfort was minimal, and they Disapparated with a loud _crack_ but no further issues.

Harry looked around their arrival point. He was certain they were still in London, but he didn't recognize the street. It looked to be downtown, judging by the size of the road, the traffic and the surrounding buildings. Muggles walked around them in droves, fluidly evading them as if they didn't even notice the stationary pair that suddenly appeared.

What really drew his attention, however, was the door in front of them. A simple, solid door, painted red. Above it on the wall, thin strips of fire spelled out _Cheering Charm_.

From within, Harry could faintly hear the loud beat of music. He could also sense the magic that prevented the muggles from noticing the door and, presumably, the music itself.

They moved at Daphne's nudge, approaching the door that opened by itself to accommodate them. Inside was a narrow hallway with stairs leading up. The music immediately became louder, but not painfully so.

Just inside the door was a man in an expensive looking suit, obviously part of the staff judging by his professional expression and mannerisms as he welcomed them.

"Miss Daphne, haven't seen you in a while," the bouncer greeted. Harry turned amused eyes on his date. Apparently, she was a repeat customer.

"Greetings," she said with a nod. "Can we go on up?"

The man shook his head. "I'm afraid it'll have to be the queue tonight, Miss. The place is packed. Even for you, we can't let you skip without prior arrangement."

Daphne nodded her head towards Harry, almost bumping into him. "This is Harry Potter, Douglas. You will let him in without waiting in the queue."

"You know how many times I hear that line every night, miss?" Harry couldn't really tell in the low lighting, but he wouldn't be surprised if the man had rolled his eyes.

"Have you ever heard it from _me_?"

That appeared to give the bouncer pause. "There _have_ been rumors, of late," he mused. "I didn't pay them much mind for obvious reasons, but…" He turned to Harry. "Is it true?"

He grinned. "Aye. I can flash my Head Auror badge if that'd help."

"You have a badge?" Daphne asked.

"Don't ask me why, they're useless most of the time. Sometimes we use them to fool muggles into-"

"No matter," she cut him off, turning back to the bouncer. "Yes that is really Harry Potter, and I think he has waited by the door long enough, yes?"

He nodded. "Of course. Leave your coats with me."

They took off their coats and passed them on, and Harry perhaps spent more time than he should admiring the new look Daphne had gone for. Her dress had changed, becoming much, much smaller, ending at just below her thighs and being open at the back, revealing long, supple legs and smooth, white skin respectively. She gave him a radiant smile over her shoulder, as if she knew exactly he was thinking. Maybe she did.

It was the bouncer that shook him out of his reverie. "Go on up, Mister Potter. And you of course, Miss. Have a good time."

Daphne shook hands with the bouncer, and Harry did not miss the exchange of money. Without another word Daphne took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. As they rose, the music got progressively louder, until it was blaring in Harry's ears at almost painful levels.

There was another door at the end of the stairs, which Daphne opened before pulling Harry through.

He stared.

The entire floor seemed to be one big room, with columns interspersed here and there around what was quite obviously a dance floor in the center. Tables and couches lined the edges of the room near the walls, and the right wall from the entrance was a bar, spanning the entire length of the wall, with half a dozen attendants mixing drinks.

The place was absolutely packed. In the low lighting, offset by fumes of various colors, bodies writhed to the steady beat of the music. Harry's keen eyes could make out faces of some of the people on their side of the room some of which he recognized. Purebloods, half-bloods and muggleborns all seemed to blend together, forgetting everything but the urge to _move_.

There was such a place in London for magical people? Harry had honestly never heard of this. Considering he was the Head Auror, that was very surprising. That would either mean that security was tight enough that nothing ever happened in this place that would bring it to his attention, or nothing was reported.

His line of thinking was halted when Daphne took a few steps forward and turned, stepping into his field of vision.

She was even more breathtaking from the front in her tight black dress, framed against the backdrop of the club's lights. She tilted her head slightly to the side, blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she reached over and took hold of his hand again, tugging him forward.

"Dance with me, Potter," she said. "Entertainment beckons."

Harry went.

 **~H~**

When Harry awoke, he did so slowly. Reluctantly. He hovered for some time in that vague place between sleep and awareness, until eventually he found himself mindful of his body, such that all that remained for him to fully awake was to open his eyes.

He did so, seeing the dark burgundy of his ceiling, lit by the morning sunlight, filtered in through the half-open balcony door far to the right.

After the immediate and instinctual acknowledgement of his location, he cast his eyes downwards. Light blonde hair greeted him.

Daphne lay next to him, half of her body draped atop his, her head resting on his shoulder as she slept. They were covered by the white sheets, but he could easily feel that neither of them was particularly clothed underneath them.

Her hair lacked any sort of coherence, falling freely every which way. Her face looked peaceful as she took slow, deep breaths. It was an expression he'd never seen her wear before. It painted an almost angelic picture, and Harry doubly appreciated it both for the image it provided and the irony it created.

Memories of last night came to him unimpeded, and a wide smile easily bloomed on his face as he recalled exactly how they'd come here and, more importantly, what had occurred right after.

He made no move to disturb her beyond wrapping his left hand more firmly around her shoulders. In unconscious reaction, she drew herself further on him, her left arm moving over his chest.

His right hand groped for his wand by the nightstand, and he bit down a curse when he couldn't find it. A more thorough search would require getting up, and a summoning charm would probably create a commotion. He closed his eyes, concentrating for a few seconds, and was satisfied by the familiar feeling of a freshening charm on his mouth. His right hand did locate his glasses, which he carefully put on.

He opened his eyes again, focusing his attention back on the stunning blonde using him as a pillow. He didn't move, didn't feel the need to; still basking in the thoughts of what the two of them had done just hours ago.

He did notice, however, when her breathing changed. It was hard to miss, what with her chest laying almost completely on top of his own.

"I know you're awake," he said, voice incredibly light and carefree. Indeed, the wide smile was still on his face.

Daphne sighed against him, the motion and aftereffects sending a tingle down his spine. She moved finally, pushing against him with the hand that was until then hugging him, turning herself until she lay on her back next to him. Harry keenly felt the sudden loss of direct contact, but wisely kept from saying anything.

"I was hoping that it had been a dream," she said, and it wasn't with the usual controlled, deliberate tone she used. This had been murmured, resigned and slow. She still wasn't fully awake.

"Fraid not."

"And we really…?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, though he knew her eyes were still closed. "You don't remember?"

Her face did shift into a small grimace at that. "I remember." With another sigh, she opened her eyes, looking first up at the ceiling, then at him then down at herself under the sheet. She let out a groan, before pulling the sheet higher, all the way up to her neck.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"... _damn it_ , Potter."

Harry chuckled, the need to express his good mood almost irresistible.

"Maybe some tea to start the day? Or coffee?"

"Where are my clothes?"

Good question. Harry looked around his sizable bedroom, focusing at potential clothes-throwing targets. He spotted a pile of clothes he recognized as Daphne's on the far left on top of a chair, her wand resting on top of the pile.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked.

She let out an indiscernible noise that was vaguely positive, as she too spotted the pile of her clothes on the chair.

"You could stay a while," he suggested. "We can lie in bed for a bit and be lazy. Maybe even have a repeat of last night's rather spectacular performance."

She turned her head to glare at him, the effect sort of ruined by her wild hair as she instinctively pulled the sheets higher up her neck.

"You flatter yourself if you think I would lay with you again so easily."

"You seemed to enjoy last night as much as I did."

"You arrogance truly knows no bounds."

"I do have a Pensieve in here somewhere. We can check."

" _No_!" she replied jerkily, before seemingly catching her mistake and berating herself, color findings its way to her cheeks and contrasting beautifully with her pale skin. "It is no matter. I just want to go."

Now that she mentioned it, perhaps getting on with the day wouldn't be a terrible idea. He was already about to run late, if the time was what he thought it was.

"If you absolutely must," he said.

"I do," she replied, before making a move to get out of bed. She seemed to reconsider, looking down at herself and then back at him and his wide smile.

"Do you mind, Potter?"

"Excuse me?"

"Look away, you dunderhead."

"Would you mind terribly if I didn't? Besides, I have very recent memories of you naked, you shouldn't feel ashamed."

Her expression morphed from frowning to glaring and if looks could kill, Harry would surely have been ash by that point. Still, his good mood and smile remained.

After a few seconds of silent staring, Daphne let out a scoff. "No matter," she said, throwing the sheet off like it had offended her and rising to her feet with crisp, collected movements.

Harry stared, eyes glued on the figure he hadn't had the time or inclination to just look and appreciate during their furious entry into his apartment and bedroom, clothes flying every which way. Slender limbs, majestic curves, creamy white skin, which he had confirmed felt just as soft as it looked. Daphne's upbringing worked in his favor in this instance, because he doubted that many women moved their hips like that when walking without specifically meaning to.

It was one thing seeing the numbers on a piece of paper. Experiencing them first-hand was completely different.

Unfortunately, her gloriously naked march ended when she reached the chair and started wearing her clothes in quick, jerky motions. Harry watched still, committing the images of her bending this way and that to his memory.

Soon, she was fully clothed, her wand in her hand and tapping at her hair, returning them to some degree of their usual elegance. At that point, Harry pulled himself to a sitting position, back against the headboard, sheets reaching his waist.

Once her furious dressing was done, she turned back to look at him. Harry saw her right eyebrow twitch ever so slightly, and his smile grew.

"It's not too late to reconsider leaving," he said, knowing full well it wouldn't happen.

She seemed to ignore his question, and only scowled at his satisfied expression.

"I laid with you because I wanted to, Potter," she said in lieu of anything else. Harry blinked, not having expected anything quite like that.

"The opposite would have surprised me, rather," he said in reply.

It seemed that his input was neither necessary nor wanted, as she just ignored him and kept talking.

"Do not think that this changes anything between us," she said through pursed lips.

"I don't," Harry replied, still smiling.

This seemed to shake her a bit, however momentarily, but not for long.

"Five dates I have promised you, and five dates you shall have. But no more. That I laid with you does not change that."

"Of course not."

She must have expected more resistance of some sort, as his quick acceptance seemed to disorient her. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, looking for signs of deceit. Harry stared back, content expression always present.

"Then … you understand."

"We're both adults. Don't worry."

"Then I shall … I shall take my leave." She turned towards the door of his bedroom and made to take a step, before turning back to him, lips pursed. "I expect you to notify me with details regarding our next outing."

Harry's smile was rejuvenated. He gave her a nod. "I'll owl you."

"Right, then I will-... the fireplace-"

"In the living room."

"Yes, of course," she went to the door and opened it, pausing momentarily. It looked as if she was about to say something for a second, but she didn't. The door closed behind her and not thirty seconds later, Harry both heard and felt the fireplace flare up with Floo travel.

Harry fell deeper in the sheets and closed his eyes again, letting out a long exhale. His smile grew again. The smell of Daphne still lingered in his bed.

Life was good.

 **~H~**

When Harry arrived at the Cold Peak, the hour was late and the sky was pouring. Harry was about as protected from the water as magic could make him, but he was still inconvenienced by the downpour.

The change in temperature upon entry into the establishment was noticeable, even through the warming charms woven into his clothes. He took off his gloves and scarf as he nodded to Jerry with a smile.

"Evening."

"Welcome, Mister Potter. Your friends are waiting."

Indeed, Harry could see them sitting at their usual table. "Excellent. Bring me something to warm me up, yes?"

"A soup, maybe?" Jerry asked as he accepted Harry's coat, gloves and scarf.

"Heavens, no. Alcohol, Jerry!"

"Yes sir."

"Good man," Harry said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked further in.

He wasn't ten steps away from the table when Ron spotted him. "Look who decided to finally join us, it's the Head Tosser himself!"

Laughs were heard from the rest of the patrons, all regulars who knew each other. All Harry's acquaintances, if not friends.

Harry grinned as he reached the free stool. "Missed me already, Ron? Neville not providing enough entertainment for you?"

"Bloody right he's not. All the idiot over here can do is whinge about Hannah."

Neville took this as his cue to raise his eyes off his glass of … something purple and steamy and look at Harry.

"He's overstating things."

"How in all the realms of magic did you manage to bollocks things up so badly so _fast_?"

"Hey, it wasn't my fault! She-"

"Ah ah ah," Ron interrupted, holding a finger up. Neville threw him a glare, but didn't say any more. "While I'm sure our dear Neville's romantic misadventures would be fun to hear, and heard they will be, I think you should explain why we had to wait here for you for almost a full hour after the agreed upon time."

Harry snorted. "Wow, Hermione's worked wonders on your vocabulary."

Neville snorted too, and he and Harry shared a few chuckles at Ron's expense while he grew red in the ears.

"Neville you shit, back me up here. He stood us up. _Again_!"

"He's sorta right mate, what gives?" Neville said among chuckles, turning eyes to Harry again.

"Well," Harry began, reaching inside the pocket of his jeans and bringing out a paper shopping bag before setting it on the table. "I had some some shopping to do, and it proved trickier to find than I expected. Sorry."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "You haven't been back from France for two hours, and you went straight out to the Alley to shop?" He shook his head once, apparently giving up on the matter. "How'd France go, by the way?"

"Nightmarishly. Oh, thanks Jerry," he said to the waiter who set a glass of some steamy dark silver liquid in front of him before continuing. "Hours upon hours of repeating stuff we knew weeks ago and beating around the bush before coming to the decision we all _knew_ we'd end up with because people were too scared for their own hides. Mark my words, by this time next month-"

"Wait, stop!" Ron interrupted again, slamming his palm on the table and startling Harry out of his tirade. "You're not getting out of it that easily!"

"What's the matter, Ron?"

"The hell was so important that you had to look for it right after your trip and had to stand us up?"

A massive grin formed on Harry's face. The fingers of his right hand tapped the paper bag. "Oh, this little thing? Nothing important, but I'm glad you asked."

"Ron, look at his face."

"I'm seeing it, Nev."

"I'm worried."

"I am, too. Should we abort?"

"I think we're too far in, now."

"Aye, at this point we must know." They turned their gazes back to the amused Harry, faces set in equally grim masks of determination.

"Show us," Neville said.

"See for yourselves," he replied, pushing the bag to the middle of the table.

Ron and Neville stared at it for a few seconds, neither one making a move.

"Will you-?"

"Dammit, Neville," Ron, cursed, reaching forward tentatively and taking hold of the bag's edges. When nothing exploded or bit him, he drew it closer to him. Very slowly and deliberately he picked it up, feeling its weight first, then straightening it and reaching his hand inside. His fingers groped for a few seconds, before he drew his hand back and bringing whatever was inside to the edge of the bag, where he could see it. He stared at it for a few seconds, expression inscrutable.

"Harry."

"Yes, Ron?"

"Harry, this is a cup."

"I am aware."

"What?" Neville asked, frowning. "Give me that," he said, reaching and taking hold of the bag and the time, bringing them in front of him. From inside the bag he retrieved a simple, white cup, the kind used for tea, coffee, cocoa or other kinds of hot beverages.

"Ron's right, Harry."

"A rare event, but so he is."

"Why did you buy a cup?"

"For the inscription."

"What's it say?"

Neville turned the cup over, and frowned at the inscription. ' _No 1 Dad_ ', it read.

"The hell, Harry."

Ron turned suspicious eyes to Harry. "Harry, you know your father isn't among us anymore, right?"

"I'm aware, Ron."

"Then why would you-"

"Because," Harry interrupted him, still smiling. "I have something to be thankful for. Isn't that reason enough?"

"What are you going to do with it, even?" Neville asked, turning the cup this way and that and examining it, almost expecting it show some previously hidden aspect of itself.

"I'm going to toss it into the Veil."

Neville stopped his inspection, freezing for a second, before turning to stare at Harry. His expression matched Ron's.

"The Veil? Capital vee?"

"Yup."

"The Archway of Death?"

"That's the one."

"Why would you … do that?"

"Don't you ever listen to your wife when she's explaining her research, Ron?"

Instantly, Ron let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, you see, it can get rather involved at times, and I often get the feeling that she's not quite talking _to_ me as much as she is-"

"Yes, yes, Ron is bored by research," Neville interrupted with an eyeroll. "And the sky is blue. What is that he missed that's relevant?"

"Sky hasn't been blue in ages," the Weasley muttered under his breath, arms crossed. Harry ignored him.

"See, Hermione sometimes works with the Department of Mysteries on some side projects. One of them was on the Archway. Apparently, it's the only confirmed method of transporting actual matter, not just souls, to the realm of death. Fascinating, right?"

Harry's two friends looked unnerved. Whether that be from the ease with which Harry talked about the instrument of his godfather's death, or the lack of anything to say in reply, he didn't know. He found their reactions amusing.

"So, what, you're hoping your dad will get it on the other end?"

"It's a tall order, but basically, yeah."

"Harry…" Neville started, lips pursed. "Has anyone ever told you that you're bonkers?"

"It comes up on occasion."

"No, I mean seriously. Even for you, this is mad."

"Thank you."

"It's not a bloody compliment!"

"Hold on," Ron said, eyes narrowed. "Why did you have to thank your dad so badly all of a sudden that you couldn't wait until tomorrow to look for the stupid mug?"

"Oh, I can't really tell."

Ron's eyes widened almost comically so. "That stupid grin-, no way. No way, Harry! You're joking, right?"

Harry said nothing, his smile only widening, showing teeth.

"Bloody hell."

Neville looked confused, eyes darting between the two of them. "What, Ron?"

Ron turned triumphant eyes to the Longbottom heir. "Pay up, Nev! I told you!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Can't you see his stupid smile? And the sudden gratitude towards Mister Potter, it's obvious."

"Obviously not. Tell me."

"He scored with Greengrass!"

"What!" Neville turned wide, surprised eyes to Harry. "No way! Harry?"

"Hm, I can't say."

Ron snorted. "Pillock. I've seen Malfoys less smug than you are right now. Pay up, Neville."

Neville cursed, reaching into his pocket and retrieving ten galleons, which he passed over to the cackling Ron.

"How the hell did you even do that, anyway?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Don't be a prat," Ron said. "It's obvious you want to tell us. When did that even happen?"

"Well, if something were to have happened, yesterday would probably be a good time. Or early today, I suppose. Hypothetically, of course."

"How in the-, how did you even manage that on, what, the third date?" Neville asked him, eyes wide. "I mean it's-... it's _Greengrass_."

"What did you do, mate? More importantly, can you teach it? I reckon knowing how to bag a bird like Greengrass would be much more useful knowledge to your Auror trainees than any hex or charm."

"I … honestly don't know. It just happened, I guess."

Neville threw him a disbelieving look. "Just happened? How does something like that just _happen_?"

Harry shrugged. Ron snorted.

"Typical Potter luck, eh? Never does things half-heartedly. Bad luck, good luck; they both come only at extremes and nothing in between."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Well in this case it sure as hell is."

"Aye, I guess you're right."

"A toast! To my ten galleons! Let that be a lesson to all who doubt the great and powerful Harry Potter!"

The other two snorted at his extravagant tone, but nevertheless accepted Ron's toast with their own drinks. The three spent a few seconds in silence, sipping their drinks.

Eventually, Neville broke the silence. "So what will you do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you two together now?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing's changed. Our agreement stands."

"And what will you do?"

"What would anyone do in my position, Nev?"

At this, Neville smiled. "You'll try to sleep with her again."

"You're bloody right I will."

"How many dates are left?" Ron interjected.

"Two."

"Well, you'd better not screw it up then, eh?"

"You're a bag of positivity."

"More to the point," Neville said. "You still haven't told us the most important part."

"That being?"

"Well, you know. How was she?"

"That's a bit too personal, isn't it?"

"Harry, we're talking about Greengrass here. Your answer needs to be archived and studied by men more learned than you, me or poor Ron."

"Oy!"

"Now tell us, how was she?"

Harry said nothing for a while, smiling behind his glass, but eventually he couldn't stand not speaking.

"Take whatever your imagination can conjure, the best things you can come come up with, and multiply those by a few hundred. That will give you a sense of scale."

Neither spoke for a minute.

"You're serious?" Ron asked.

"Completely."

Neville let out a long whistle, clearly impressed. Both of Harry's friends spent the next few minutes sipping their drinks, processing all that they had learned.

Eventually, Ron nudged the paper bag.

"You really think this is gonna work? That Hermione was right?"

Harry took the cup on his hand, looking over the inscription one more time. "I hope she was, Ron," he said. "I hope she was."

Harry put down the mug, taking his drink back on hand. ' _You'd better not screw it up_ ', Ron had said.

He was more right than he knew.

 **~H~**


	6. Step 4: The Element of Surprise

**.**

* * *

 **~H~**

 **Step 4: The Element of Surprise**

 **~H~**

* * *

Apparating outside Greengrass manor was getting more familiar every time Harry did it. When he appeared with a soft pop, he took a look around. It was a good morning with clear skies. Though it was December, the temperature wasn't too low. A small backpack was slung over one shoulder. He'd forgone his heavy coat in favor of a thinner one, seeing as the weather was this nice.

He put his free hand against the cool metal of the gate. A few seconds later, the gate glided open, allowing him passage. He sauntered over to the entrance, taking his time and enjoying the nice smells wafting from the nearby gardens.

A recognizable house-elf accepted him inside.

"Welcomes, master Potter."

"Hey, Trixy," Harry greeted as he walked. Unsurprisingly, the house-elf's eyes widened.

"Master … still remembers."

"Sure. Hey, you guys did a great job on that garden. I swear I felt like I was flying on my way in, it smelled so nice."

"Master Potter is too kind, sir."

"Make sure you pass my commendation to whoever of your friends is in charge of them, yes?"

The little thing almost tore its head off with how wildly it nodded.

"Trixy will, master Potter, sir!"

"Is Daphne around, by any chance? I sent her an owl, but I didn't get a reply so maybe this is a bad time?"

"Mistress Daphne is getting ready, Trixy was told to say."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Told by who?"

"Mistress Astora, sir. She be wanting to speaks to you. Said that Trixy be getting you to her when you comes, sir."

Harry didn't correct her pronunciation, certain that if the elf could pull it off, she'd have done it by now after presumably serving the family for years.

"Lead the way," he said with a wave.

Trixy led him through the manor again, but they didn't go through the entrance hall and the decorated hallway that he'd visited before. Instead, they took a door deeper in and then some stairs leading up. Harry counted two floors before they stopped ascending and entered another hallway. This, too, was decorated, but much more lightly, and it felt less cold. This was the living quarters of the family, no doubt.

"Should I be here, Trixy?" Harry asked, starting to feel a bit uncertain. The house-elf nodded her head again.

"Mistress Astora's orders!"

"Right."

They turned once, and Harry noted the long distance between each of the doors. He spotted another house-elf, magically stuck to the ceiling, scrubbing something or other.

Eventually Trixy stopped in front of one door and bowed her head to him.

"Mistress be expecting you, master Potter."

"Thank you, Trixy."

"Can Trixy take your bag?"

"Until we're going, sure."

The elf popped away without another word after accepting his backpack, leaving Harry alone in the corridor. He held still for a moment, before gently knocking once.

"Come in," he heard the unfamiliar, feminine voice. With a mental shrug, he took hold of the handle and opened the door, walking inside.

Astoria's room was truly cavernous. The building itself was huge, and the rooms seemed to take up a good chunk of it, but no doubt magic had been used to make it even bigger on the inside. Looking around discreetly and noting how far away the walls were, Harry thought that several smaller houses could fit in this. He wondered if this was Astoria's taste in having big spaces to live in, or if every room in the manor was this spacious.

The entire opposite side lacked a wall, and if there was glass it wasn't visible. The view of the garden and the fields further away was breathtaking, Harry had to admit. Wardrobes, libraries, a couple of desks and other assorted furniture lined the walls and much of the empty space between. Several doors were spaced out at regular intervals, too.

"Come closer, Potter," he heard Astoria's voice again, as if she was right next to him, and turned. He saw her in the distance, on the far left wall, sitting in front of a vanity. It looked like a good few minutes' walk to get there, but Harry didn't worry.

He started a leisurely walk towards her, and felt the gentle grasp of magic as he was pushed forward, covering the room's ridiculous space in just a few short strides that felt no more hurried or effective than normal until he was standing next to her.

The first thing he noted about Daphne's little sister was that she had the same striking, platinum blonde hair color as her sister. The second thing was that she wasn't really little anymore.

He hadn't really had much interaction with Astoria, ever. He'd barely seen her at Hogwarts, and never seen her again after. All his memories of her were hazy images of a short, blonde girl following Daphne around.

Well, this wasn't it. Even sitting down, Harry could tell that Astoria was tall. Taller than Daphne though not quite as tall as he was. She was wearing a t-shirt, but it was one of those that were much wider around the neckline than they should and ended up falling over one shoulder that Harry had been seeing on muggles often lately, along with a pair of denim shorts. Her long legs were folded and her hair, so similar to her sister's, was loose behind her, reaching just below her shoulders.

An enchanted hairbrush was gently flowing top down on her hair, while she directed her wand in smooth, flowing motions, like an orchestra conductor. Noting the smatterings of colored dust that floated and obeyed her command as Astoria was critically examining herself in the mirror, Harry realized that she was putting on make-up.

"Hi," he said, in lieu of anything else.

"Hey, Potter," she replied, putting her wand down on the vanity and letting the dust settle back into its various casings. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. It's a nice day," he noted. "And you?"

"Same. Can't complain." She turned her head back towards the mirror, her hand taking hold of the brush. "Going to head out soon. Same with you and Daphne, I reckon?"

He nodded. "Yes. I sent her an owl, though perhaps she might not have received it."

Astoria snorted, a sound eerily reminiscent of her sister but somehow less curt, more genuinely amused.

"Oh, she got it alright."

Harry took a couple of seconds to think of what to say when it became obvious that she would offer nothing further on her mysterious statement.

"Well, that's good I suppose. I was on my way to pick her up when Trixy told me you wanted to see me."

"Who?"

"Your house-elf?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, I asked, it was nice of you to come."

Harry couldn't really say that he had much of a choice, since to refuse would be considered rude.

"You're not about to be late for a reservation, are you? I'm not keeping you two from something? Figured that this early in the morning it'd be fine."

Harry run his hand through the back of his head. "As long as this doesn't drag on too long, it should be fine. Actually I'm glad you called me over."

She turned back toward him, one perfect eyebrow arched. "Oh?"

He nodded. "I've wanted to talk to you about a couple of things, actually. I just wasn't sure how to contact you without it coming off as weird or invasive."

"Oh? Seeking the little sister's permission before stealing the older one away? How … noble."

Harry shook his head. "I don't need your permission. Yours, or anyone else's. I just wanted to talk about a couple things."

Astoria let out a chuckle. "I see Sister was right about how arrogant you are… well, no matter. This still works out for everyone, doesn't it?"

"Mhm."

"Speak first, then, if you would."

"What does Daphne like to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does she have any hobbies? Something she likes doing just because she enjoys it?"

"You'd think that's one of the questions you should have asked her in one of your three dates, wouldn't you?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "I tried a couple times. She didn't seem inclined to tell me, or we had other stuff to discuss."

"Discuss?" Astoria said with a snort. "Is that what you're calling it?"

Harry did not blush. No sir.

"Can you help me?"

"Would it help you to know that Daphne has a whole room full of semi-animated plushies of sizes ranging from tiny to ceiling high?"

Harry blinked, taking a few seconds to think of a reply. Astoria's face was an unreadable mask of amusement. Harry couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.

"Potentially," he said eventually. "But I'd have to see it to believe it, and in any case I was talking more about activities like outdoor hobbies, or something she likes to do to pass time, not a collection of something."

"Hmm," Astoria murmured, placing finger on her plump lips as she thought. "Hard to tell with Daphne, really. She tends to keep things close to her chest lately you know, even from me."

"It's fine if you can't think of anything."

"She seemed to like the outdoors," she noted as if she hadn't heard him. "When we were younger, she'd always run around the gardens and get scolded by Father. She'd go on and on about going to the beach. She loved to swim, I think. It's been many years since she's talked about it, though. Maybe it's no longer true."

"It's good enough," Harry said with a nod. "Thanks."

She shrugged. "No problem. So what, you'll take her to the beach now?"

"That's the plan, yeah. Unless you suddenly remembered something else."

She shook her head. "What if I'd said something different? Like the mountains, or cave exploration or shadow walking or sleeping herbs or painting?"

"Well, I probably wouldn't have encouraged anything addictive," Harry said with a laugh of his own. "But I did come prepared for various possibilities, I'm sure it'd have worked out."

His backpack hadn't been just for show.

"Well, if you say so. Was there something else you wanted?"

"Actually…" Harry dug into his pocket, pulling out a small stack of papers. He offered them to Astoria, who waved her wand towards them and had them float in front of her, taking a minute to examine them.

"That's quite the list," she noted. "Did you really do those things, Potter?"

"Whether I did them isn't the issue," Harry said with a slight grimace. "It's the fact that Daphne is actually trying to get me convicted on a plethora of charges."

Astoria laughed once, letting the papers stack up again and floating them back to Harry who accepted them and replaced them in his magically enlarged pocket.

"And you mention this after asking about her hobbies?"

"Well, I had to make sure it was something I wouldn't have to pop away to prepare for."

"You don't seem overly concerned for someone facing multiple charges of murder, trespass, property damage and other assorted crimes."

Harry shrugged his shoulders lightly. "There's no case here. Pensieve memories aren't admissible evidence. It would be her word against mine. She probably knows it."

"How are you so sure?"

"If she really wanted to get me arrested, she'd have taken her time and tried to gather more solid evidence and accounts beyond my own."

At this, Astoria smiled. "Sister does like her dramatics."

"Anyway, that's all I have for now. Your turn."

She turned to face him fully, rising up from her seat and to her full height. She leaned against the vanity and sat on its edge with a light hop, her bare feet idly swaying a few inches from the floor.

"I don't know what you're doing with Daphne," she admitted. "I don't know what your gameplan is, but at least I am moderately certain that it won't be something terribly cruel or unkind to her."

Harry frowned. "Astoria-"

"Hold on," she cut him off, raising a finger to his lips. Harry's frown deepened at her presumed familiarity, but he schooled his expression quickly and stayed silent, letting her speak after she retracted her finger.

"As I said, I don't know what you're doing," she continued, throwing her hair behind her shoulders with a smooth movement, "and frankly, I don't care. Daphne can take care of herself if you're really not as virtuous as the rest of the world likes to paint you as."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"On the assumption that you're not planning on being terribly cruel to her, I want you to continue doing what you're doing."

Harry's eyebrows reached his hairline. "Excuse me?"

Astoria laughed, another sound reminiscent of her sister but distinctly different.

"I have to say, watching Sister to react to everything you do has been a treat. Most of the time these days, all Daphne seems able to talk about is you."

At this, Harry did smile. "Really?"

She nodded, giving him a beaming smile. "Granted, most of what she has to say about you isn't very nice, and probably illegal on some level, but hey. It's the principle of the matter."

"Seeing your sister like this amuses you?"

"That's right. You don't understand, Potter. You have the unique ability to get under pretty much anyone's skin, so this might sound weird to you, but Daphne is hardly ever lacking in composure. Rarely is she not in control of her own situation. Seeing her floundering in uncertainty is a rare sight, so…" She paused, giving him another beaming smile and a wink. "You have my support!"

Harry rubbed the back of his head, expression remaining unimpressed.

"Thanks, I guess."

Her beaming smile gave way to a scowl as she crossed her hands. "You don't have to be so nonchalant about it!"

"Whatever."

"You should treat your future sister in-law better, you know."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that the only reason your sister is dating me is to avoid exactly that, don't you?"

She waved a dismissive hand his way. "I forget the details sometimes. Regardless."

"You two are very different, you know?"

She blinked at him, Harry noted that her eyes were brown. "What do you mean?"

"You look similar, but you're very different. You act different, you talk different, stuff like that."

Astoria pulled her feet up on the vanity, scooting a little further back so she could bring her knees up to her chest.

"I suppose we are. Sister … Sister is special. You wouldn't understand, Potter."

"Try me."

She clicked her tongue in irritation, another habit the sisters seemed to share.

"She's the eldest. Responsibilities come with that. Sister has understood from an early age what she needed to do. To _become_."

"You don't approve?"

Her brow creased. "It's not that. I'd do the same if I were in her position. But I'm not. My duty ends when I marry Malfoy as long as I don't ever shame the family. But Daphne's duties will never end."

Harry frowned at this. That was another topic he'd considered broaching but hadn't decided on before coming. Now that he'd talked to her, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should, at the very least, try to help Astoria. Protect her, if he could. Perhaps it was a silly notion to some, but not to him.

"I feel like I should ask you about that, actually."

"About what?"

"Malfoy."

Astoria blinked at him, askance. "What about him?"

"I've come to understand that I know nothing when it comes to these matters," he said. "I get that. Still, if this is something you don't want to do, I can help. I can talk to Draco, and my reach is far. I could arrange something else to satisfy your parents besides marrying you off."

Astoria stared at him for a minute, expression unreadable. "What do you stand to gain from this? As you said, you don't care about my permission."

"I said I don't need it, not that I don't care about it," Harry said with a quick shake of his head. "Besides, Daphne cares about you. A lot. If I can help you, do I need any more reason than that?"

"Not every damsel is in distress, Potter. And even if they are, you don't have to save everyone."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I agree with that."

"Let me rephrase. You _can't_ save everyone. Trying to will only bring disappointment."

"Philosophical debate aside, my offer stands."

A small smiled appeared on her lips. "I appreciate the thought, Potter, but I can handle Malfoy. I'll be fine."

"You love him, then?"

"What?" she asked, appearing genuinely confused. "Of course not."

Harry chuckled. "Your sister said exactly the same thing, you know."

"This is business, Potter. Love has little to do with it. Besides, we're both reasonable people, we might come to love each other with time. It was like this for our parents."

"And if you don't?"

Astoria shrugged, the picture of childlike innocence. "There are other solutions to consider, for cases such as this."

Harry had to suppress a shiver from running down his spine. Despite the room bathing in morning light, Astoria's pale complexion, bright hair and beaming smile, he thought she looked rather sinister in that moment.

He'd considered Astoria so far to be the more laid back, less intense and scary sibling of the two. The first was most likely correct, but he was beginning to wonder about the last two.

Perhaps he ought to be protecting Draco, instead.

 **~H~**

"You appear to have taken the scenic route, Potter."

Daphne was waiting for him by the main entrance. Harry put on a smile and waved as he approached, holding the backpack Trixy returned to him.

"Sorry," he said as he reached her. "Your sister accosted me."

She tipped the edge of her wide summer hat upwards, to make sure that her sneer was visible. "Not even married yet and already fraternizing with my sister? How shameless."

Harry blinked. "Eh? We were just talking, nothing else. You know I'd never-..." He trailed off when he heard the giggle from under the rim of her hat.

"You're making fun of me!" he accused.

"What was your first clue?"

"You're not supposed to have a sense of humor!"

"Deal with it, Potter. Now, let us go."

With that she turned, her bright sundress twirling with the sudden movement. A white picnic bag was hanging from her shoulder, completing the clothes catalogue picture of a high-priced summer collection.

"Nowhere in the contract was it mentioned that you can joke," Harry said with a shake of his head as he followed her outside. "I think I need to talk to my lawyers."

"Hush, you big baby." She turned to face him after they'd existed the main gate. The morning breeze ruffled her hair lightly to the side, the light making her positively sparkle and painting an angelic image that would have stolen his breath away if he hadn't been expecting it.

"Considering you did not deign to inform me of where you plan to take me, I hope my attire will be appropriate for the occasion."

Harry gave her a once-over, from the sandals to the hat, before offering her his hand, which she took.

"That's actually … pretty spot on. Which is weird, considering I hadn't decided exactly where we were going until half an hour ago. How'd you do it?"

Daphne smiled. "A girl has to keep _some_ secrets, Potter."

"Was it a talking mirror? Or maybe you have some kind of quick communication method with Astoria?"

"You were closer the first time."

There was no particular point to it, but they'd taken to walking down the path leading to the estate. The winding path had small patches of trees and shrubbery, well-maintained, nearby. It was all very scenic and pretty and on a morning like this, Harry decided that they could afford to tarry a bit longer if it were for a stroll this nice.

"Wait, wait, let me guess."

"Don't strain your already overworked mental faculties."

"You asked around my secretaries for reservations, then used a middle-man to inquire my close friends, before deducing that I'd be taking you somewhere outside."

It took a few seconds of waiting for confirmation for Harry to finally turn his head and look at her. She was raising an eyebrow at him with an amused smile. Harry rubbed the back of his head and gave an awkward laugh.

"Then again, maybe not?"

"This is not the Auror office, Potter."

"Sorry. Habit."

"Do continue guessing though. It amuses me."

"Eh. How about tea leaves?"

She furrowed her brow. "Tea leaves? Did you inhale a bit too much of Trelawney's horrid smoke?"

He shrugged. "Tea leaves can be used to predict the weather with some degree of accuracy."

"I was not aware."

"Can I get a hint?"

"I told you already. You were closer the first time."

Harry considered it, playing the conversation back in his mind. After a minute consideration, he brought his free hand up to his forehead.

"Well, I feel stupid now. It's a predictive wardrobe, isn't it?"

"Took you long enough to figure it out. I was a bit surprised though. I ran plenty of diagnostic charms on it to make sure it was still working. Nice weather or not, Potter, it's still December."

Harry smiled at this. "Don't worry. We'll be going somewhere where the month hardly matters."

"And where is that?"

"Off Britain, for starters."

"Obviously. More specifically?"

"You'll see. Are we ready? They're expecting us at the ITA."

"We are."

Harry squeezed her hand, before Disapparating them both. With a pop slightly louder than Harry's usual, they appeared on the steps leading up to Britain's International Travel Agency.

"You'll have to stomach the stampeding peasants for a few seconds," Harry said with a grin as they made their way inside. While not as crowded as during high traffic hours, there were always people coming and going in the ITA.

"Oh the horror," was her dry reply as Harry led them to the Portkey section. He gave his name and a number to an attendant, and then they followed the man as he took them to the particular room.

"No carriage this time," Harry noted as they walked. "I valued speed over style for this one. I hope you don't mind."

"That will entirely depend on the particulars of our destination."

"Noted."

Inside the Portkey room were various pedestals with seemingly innocuous items on them and a number tag. The station attendant took them to one particular pedestal.

"Two minute twenty seven seconds for departure," he told them with a short bow of his head. "Have a nice trip, mister Potter."

"Thank you."

With that, the man left them alone in the room with the other, inert Portkeys.

"So, where will this deposit us?" Daphne asked as she applied a quick charm to her hair and clothes with her free hand.

Harry took a moment to think. "You know, I don't actually remember what the place is called," he said after a few seconds. "I provided the coordinates for the Portkey, but I don't recall what the island is called exactly."

"So it is an island? Italy? Greece? Or somewhere further?"

"It's in Greece, but it's only a jumping point. We'll be Apparating somewhere else as soon as we arrive."

"Could you not have Apparated us straight there?"

"International Apparition is a tricky thing to do legally," Harry said with a shrug. "This saves me some headache."

"I see. Our time is almost up."

Harry turned his eyes back to the small, golden goblet that was to be their Portkey and played down the timer in his mind.

"Right, on three?" At her nod, they raised their hands at the same time. "One, two, three!"

Each touched a single digit to the goblet's surface and were instantly whisked away under the familiar feeling of a hook behind their navel.

After a brief daze they were deposited back on solid ground, with only a brief waver to show Harry's discomfort. Magical transportation hadn't really gotten better for him over the years, but experience with it did allow him to keep his feet upon arrival.

The room they'd arrived to was long, patterned in white and blue. More Portkeys were coming and going around them. The station they'd arrived in, evidently, functioned with one large Portkey room rather than several smaller ones.

Daphne let go of his hand upon arrival to reposition her bag.

"Have they never heard of cooling charms here?" she grumbled as she fished out her wand and applied one, herself.

"Want a translation charm?" Harry asked as he applied one on himself.

"I want to exchange no words," she said with a quick shake of her head. "Be brief and let us go."

Harry gave her a nod and approached the official, speaking for a few moments in a language he wouldn't have known without the help of magic. A few seconds and a signature later, they were allowed to go through the door, and through a bare hallway until they'd reached the exit.

Once outside, Daphne took a few seconds to enjoy the scenery. Gone was the dull, weak sunlight of a good English day, still unable to mask the December chill. Here, however, the sky was clear and the sun was bright. The air was hot and dry, rather than Britain's humidity.

Daphne turned to him.

"Get rid of that coat," she told him with disdain. "It makes you look tacky in this weather. Plus, it doesn't match what I am wearing at all."

Harry blinked in surprise for a second, before obliging and taking off his coat. "Sheesh, okay."

The coat went inside the backpack, vanishing into the impossibly smaller space without issue and leaving him in the light blue shirt he wore underneath.

"Better?"

"Marginally," she replied, before giving him a more thorough look. "Your trousers are too long. Fix them."

Harry let out a sigh as his wand suddenly appeared in his free hand. With a small wave, his pants shortened, changing shape and style as they did so until they perfectly resembled a pair of shorts he owned.

"And the shoes. Sandals or flippers. Monochrome, please."

Another wave, another piece of clothing changed.

"Can we go now? We still have to Apparate, you know. Besides, it's not like anyone will see us there."

Daphne gave him a look that would have been pity if it didn't feel rather more disdainful. "You dress well for yourself before you do so for other people, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother," he said, before offering his palm, wand mysteriously gone again. She took it with a huff, and Harry Disapparated them both in that instant.

They re-appeared in a small backyard, framed by a stone fence painted white. The scenery around them looked similar to what they'd left a moment previously. Daphne gave a curious look around, seeing that they were on top of a hill on a tiny island, with calm, blue ocean surrounding them as far as the eye could see.

At Harry's tug, they walked towards the small house connected to the yard. Harry knocked on the wooden door twice.

"What is this place, Potter?"

"I rented it," he replied. "Call it a private retreat."

The door opened, revealing a white-haired, crotchety old woman who opened it further and ushered them in with a toothless smile. Her complexion was much more tanned than theirs. She clapped Harry's hand and greeted him eagerly in her own language, interspersing coughing laughs amidst whatever it was she was talking about. Even with the translation charm, understanding the old woman was a challenge.

After being let in and being given a small tour of the -surprisingly well-kept- premises, the old woman bowed her waved, said something, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

"Get comfortable," Harry said as he unshouldered his bag. "This is our humble abode for today."

"Humble is one way to put it," Daphne grumbled as she, too, put her picnic bag on the wooden table, but there was no real fire behind her words as they both familiarised themselves with the lodgings. The place was beautiful, even if it was small, and the view outside made up for whatever complaints Daphne might have had about its size. The bedroom held a sizable bed with clean white sheets, the kitchen was well stocked and the open windows made for a very nice breeze. On further inspection, she discovered that the house was on top of a cliff, beneath which a small, beautiful bay and beach lay.

"How about a mid-winter swim, hm?" Harry proposed with a grin, holding the main door open for her.

"How can the weather be like this?" Daphne wondered as she followed him outside and towards the edge of the cliff. "Even if we are in Greece or Italy or wherever it is you took us, it is still December."

Harry grinned. "This place," he said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand, "cannot be seen on any muggle map. This is not the doing of wizards, either. It was always like this, as far as we know. Places like this obey their own rules, and function differently than the rest of the world. You'd think it should be at least a little cold in December, but who's to say this place even knows or accepts what month it is?"

Many people Harry knew would go wide-eyed at this explanation, perhaps trying to wrap their heads around it and failing, each dealing with it differently. Ron wouldn't have cared enough to ask about it in the first place and Hermione would ask more questions to try and pinpoint the differences between places like this and the rest of the world.

Not Daphne. She looked at him for a few seconds after he finished talking, perhaps processing his answer in her mind. Then, she nodded.

"I see," she said. And that was that.

Harry offered her his hand and she took it. A soft pop and a moment later, they were standing on the beach at the base of the cliff. It couldn't have been more than fifty meters across, a picture-perfect location of soft, clean sand and clear, almost see-through waters surrounded by the cliff's rocky outcroppings.

Daphne threw a charm at her shoes to ward off the invasive sand, and threw one to Harry as well, for which he smiled. Together they walked closer to the water, stopping a few meters away.

As they stopped and rummaged inside their bags, Harry spoke up. "Did you by any chance bring a towel?"

In response, Daphne pulled out a wide, red-colored sea towel followed by a picnic blanket. Harry pulled out his own yellow one and they put the towels around the blanket and knelt on them.

"Swim before food?"

She nodded at him from under her hat. "Aye, that does sound appealing. Speaking of swimming, I seem to recall you proclaiming you are not particularly gifted at it. How come you brought us here?"

Harry smiled. "That doesn't have to mean I don't enjoy it, right? Besides, I hear you're quite the swimmer, yourself."

That elicited an almost fierce smile from her, which Harry tentatively dubbed enthusiastic. "Verily," was her reply.

"Will you save me if it looks like I'm drowning?"

Daphne laughed, the melodic sound echoing on the cliffside. "I shall consider it."

Harry said no more, busy pulling his shirt off and transfiguring his slacks into a black pair of swimming trunks. He turned back to Daphne to ask something, and then immediately forgot what he was about to say.

He'd known that Daphne was good-looking. It was the one thing he knew for certain about her before this whole debacle, it was his father's contribution to the contract that made certain that his son's bride would meet his very high standards, it was the one realization that kept hitting him again and again every time he saw her. It was the reason he often checked his pensieve to make sure that night had really happened, and a good chunk of why he'd originally decided to go after the contract instead of just voiding it.

Still, the Greengrass heiress found new ways to surprise him. He might have seen her naked before, but he'd had yet to see Daphne in a _swimsuit_ until that moment.

The bikini top itself was not particularly small, but Daphne was a well endowed woman and the material seemed to be strained to cover all of her, which had the added effect of accentuating the curvature of her chest. The bottom was held together at her hips by strings, falling elegantly down her thighs. Curiously, there was a small noose on the right side, inside which her wand was held flush against her body.

Daphne in a sundress and a wide hat made for a picturesque, innocent image. The kind you'd find in postcards or fashion magazines. Daphne in a matching dark red bikini combo was something else entirely, sexy rather than innocent, alluring instead of endearing. Inviting and forbidding at the same time, because surely such magnificence could not be touched, lest it vanish into the ether.

"Potter, you are staring."

Harry shook his head, noticing that his eyes were wide and his mouth just barely open, hastily fixing both. His eyes focused on her expression, one of smug satisfaction.

"You are beautiful," he said, not bothering to hide the awe from his voice. Her smirk widened.

"I am glad you seem to be appreciating the product. I worked hard for it."

"I'm afraid of looking away in case you disappear."

She chuckled. "I hear there is risk of that happening if you blink, too. Try to refrain, yes? I'd rather avoid disappearing."

"Laugh all you want, my brain is too busy to process you making fun of me."

She laughed again, slowly fading into chuckles as she shook her head in mirth. She began expertly tying her long hair into a single ponytail, tapping her wand on it to make it hold, and the raising of her arms to do so did things to her chest that should be illegal, or at least very expensive for her audience.

Daphne got to her feet first, Harry idly following her with his eyes, barely registering the movement.

"Come, Potter," she said, offering him her hand. "It is time to, as they say, get our feet wet."

He took her hand, still kind of numb, and she jostled him to his feet with more force than he expected, which made him refocus. He took off his glasses and put them on the blanket.

"Right," he said as they both ditched their slippers and headed towards the water. "I was only half-joking about the saving me part, you know."

"And I was not joking at all when I said I would consider it."

"Right, of course."

They reached the water then and whatever nervous misgivings Harry might have had, they vanished. The sea was cool, but not cold. It actually felt very pleasant to walk in deeper and deeper, escaping the hot rays of the sun.

Harry let out a sigh as the water reached his neckline, closing his eyes for a second before fully submerging himself. When his head was out again, he opened his eyes and looked around for the blonde woman. He spotted her, but only because the water was so clear, as she was fully submerged and swimming along the bottom, coming closer and closer to him.

She emerged a scant half-meter away from, throwing barely any water around, and leveled excited grey eyes at him. Harry smiled, truly glad to see her happy. If nothing else, he'd managed to do something nice for her, which was a satisfying thought.

She seemed to share his sentiment, as her floating brought her ever closer, their eyes locked, their breaths caressing each other's faces until there was hardly any distance between them.

Harry leaned in, seeking her lips with his own, but he found only air as Daphne pulled back ever so slightly. He looked up again, seeking her eyes with a half-frustrated, half-betrayed expression.

She chuckled, leaning closer again. "Race you to the edge of the bay and back," she whispered into his ear, her husky voice short-circuiting Harry's brain for a moment. His hesitation meant that he was still standing there floating when Daphne kicked off, splashing water into his eyes as she started swimming away.

"No fair!" he shouted, before taking off after her.

The match was a foregone conclusion, even without factoring in her head-start. Harry was fit, and he was stronger than her, but he had little experience with swimming and Daphne was, quite clearly, very good at it. By the time he'd reached the last outcropping that marked the edge of the bay and the beginning of open water, Daphne had already passed him by and was halfway back to the beach.

Still, Harry wasn't one to give up. He kept swimming as fast as he could, even after the point when he assumed Daphne had already reached the beach.

Humiliated, defeated and sore, he reached shallow water and slowly walked out. He wasn't tired, but the sudden burst of swimming had made some muscles he rarely used uncomfortable.

Daphne was standing by their towels, wand in hand, looking at him with that damned smug smirk, but she did walk towards him and meet him halfway once he got out of the water. Harry didn't have the heart to be annoyed, because if there was one thing that was even more impressive than Daphne in a bikini, it was a _wet_ Daphne in a bikini, with water slowly making its way down her pale skin and making her practically shine while accentuating every single curve in her body.

"You cheated," he accused without fire as he approached.

"And _you_ lost," she replied.

Rather than saying anything, Harry wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her to him, ignoring her yelp of surprise. His other hand went under her chin, pulling her face to his as he leaned in and kissed her.

Daphne obliged him, kissing him back with equal intensity for several seconds. The feeling of her wet body, flush against his was almost as pleasurable as her lips.

After a while of this, Daphne put her hands on his chest and lightly pushed. He got the hint and let go of her lips, pulling back far enough to look at her, their arms still around each other. Daphne was smiling, less aggressively this time, before her eyes looked down between them.

"Is that-"

"That," Harry cut her off, "is actually my wand, thank you very much."

"Mmm," was her noncommittal mumble.

"I can't believe you were about to go for the 'happy wand' line. Have you no standards?"

"Oh, I have standards," she replied, returning her eyes to him. "High standards, as it happens. I demand excellence in all fields."

"And I deliver?"

"In some areas," she said with a nod. "But … your swimming is shoddy at best."

"Hey!"

"As the winner of our race, I demand my reward."

Harry frowned. "We said nothing about a reward."

"Which means I get to decide what it is."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

She pulled away from him, turning away and walked back towards their things. "Put up some privacy charms around our position, and then join me."

Harry looked around, scanning the empty bay for anything that might have made her feel unsafe.

"There's no one on the island, Daphne," he assured her. "I guarantee it."

"Just do it, Potter," she called out from further ahead. "I _guarantee_ you shan't regret it."

Harry turned his head to look at her in confusion, before his eyes widened and his words died in his throat. Daphne was approaching the towels with slow, deliberate steps as her hands undid the straps on her back holding the bikini top together.

When the straps were undone she let one slip over her shoulder with a casual move, then the other, before letting the whole thing fall to the ground as a hand loosed her hair from its ponytail and she shook her head, letting her wet hair fan out.

She gave him a coy smile over her shoulder as her fingers played with the straps of her bikini bottom.

"Coming?"

Harry had never set up a secure perimeter faster in his life.

 **~H~**

Harry wasn't sure what time it was by the time they finally lay still, or how long they stayed tangled without a word or movement. Surely noon had come and past, but beyond that he couldn't tell. He held her in his arms and his fingers would slowly roam, going over each curve and surface they could reach, searing it all to memory through touch. If Daphne was bothered, she did not show it. She only held him as he held her, eyes boring into his in an expression he couldn't decipher and didn't care to, but was happy enough to attribute to post-coital exhaustion.

"You know," he broke the silence at some point, speaking in whispers considering Daphne's ears was scant centimeters away from his mouth, "I never really cared to learn before now, but how does fashion advertisement work?"

"How do you mean?"

"Do clothing brands use witches' magazines and papers to advertise?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"They show pictures. Each person who looks at the capture of a piece will, should they fit certain requirements, see themselves as they would look while wearing said piece."

"I see, that's interesting."

"How did you think to ask that?"

"You see, in the muggle world, there is a profession called modelling. Ever heard of it?"

"I have not."

"Basically, since muggles can't have pictures that show each reader wearing it, they have people called models who put the clothes on and pose to show off how good they look."

She nodded. "I understand. That would not really be indicative of how suitable each piece is to each reader, though, would it?"

"I suppose not. That's not really the point of muggle advertisements, though. The point of modeling is to make each picture look as appealing as possible, with the clear implication that if the reader but buys the product, they too can look as glamorous."

"I see. How cunning."

"Right? But the point is, only the most beautiful, most gifted specimens of each gender are chosen for this profession. It occurred to me how successful you could be in that line of work."

"Prostrating myself half-naked in public for _muggles_?"

Harry frowned at her disgusted tone. "No," he said lightly, carefully. "Rather, I only wanted to express how impossibly breath-taking I find you."

"Ah. So it was a compliment?"

"Yes."

She pulled herself higher and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you for the sentiment, however badly exemplified."

"One would think that you'd be tired of my compliments after a while."

"One would be wrong."

Harry couldn't help but let out a laugh. "What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?"

She grinned into his shoulder. "You had very thoughtful parents."

Surprised though he was that she refrained from a more derogatory retort, Harry didn't let it phase him. He nodded, mock seriousness in his expression. "Very true, very true."

"Do not forget to be properly grateful."

At this, he smiled again. "Already taken care of," he said.

She raised herself on her right elbow to look at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Harry's grin only grew. "Nothing important."

"Potter-"

"Are you hungry? I think it's about lunch time."

She let out a sigh at his evasion, but did not press him. "I could eat."

They untangled their limbs from each other and sat up, each pulling their half-dry swimsuits back on with quick motions. Still riding the high of their previous activities, Harry took to softly kissing the back of her neck and around her shoulders, even as he pulled his backpack closer, marveling at the smoothness of her bare skin. Daphne, who was rummaging inside her bag, ignored him at first, but Harry felt the shivers he caused her after the first few pecks.

"Stop, Potter," she said. "That tickles."

"Don't wanna," Harry murmured between kisses.

"Do you not wish to eat?"

Harry grinned and look up. He opened his mouth to say something, but was beaten to the punch.

"Not a word," she warned him over her shoulder as she swatted his roaming hand away. "I swear to magic, Potter, I will hex you. Sit properly."

Harry grumbled, but did move. He didn't go far, sitting himself down next to her, but he heeded her warning and kept his hands to himself.

"What would you like to have?" she asked him, elbow deep in her bag.

"Well," Harry said, reaching inside his backpack and quickly pulling out a pair of wrapped sandwiches. "I have these lovelies here. You like tuna, right?"

Daphne stopped her search, turning to him and pulled her hands out of her bag to take one sandwich, very carefully, between her thumb and pointer, holding it as if it smelled or it might attack her.

"What is this?"

"It's a sandwich," he said with a roll of his eyes. "They might look a bit battered, but they're delicious. Courtesy of Mrs Weasley."

Daphne snorted, tossing the sandwich carelessly towards him. A man without Harry's reflexes might not have caught it before it hit the sand beyond the towel.

"What the hell?"

"Keep the blood-traitor's scraps," she said with derision, turning back to her bag and taking her wand in hand. "I choose to eat real food, thank you. You are welcome to join me."

"You're impossible," Harry said with a sigh as he put the sandwiches back in his bag. He'd make sure someone from the department had them later. Active Aurors ate about as much as a growing teenager.

"Thank you."

Harry did not rise to the bait. Rather, he watched as item after item floated out of her bag, some of which should have been much too big to fit through even the wide opening of it. Before long, the entire picnic blanket was covered with plates of elaborate culinary creations, most of which wouldn't be out of place at the Ciel d'Azur.

"What is all this?"

"Proper food."

"Daphne, this isn't exactly picnic food you know. And even if we wanted to, we couldn't eat all this."

She turned her head towards him, frowning. "You are refusing my food?" she asked. "Even after I went to all the trouble of preparing it for you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You made this?"

"I ordered my house-elves to do it," she said with a nonchalant expression.

Harry let out a sigh. "That doesn't count as your effort, Daphne."

She appeared genuinely confused. "Really?"

Harry shook his head but didn't reply, instead turning towards the plethora of dishes and pulling one closer to him.

"Right," he said. "Chances of you letting me feed you?"

"Nonexistent."

"Tch, can you at least _try_ to read the mood?"

Lunch was eventful, but in the end they both ate without excessive fuss, careful not to go overboard, considering they planned to get back in the water soon. They spent a couple hours sunbathing and relaxing after eating, careful to magically filter the light so they wouldn't get burned.

Eventually, Harry sat up and turned to her. His upper body blocked the sun on her face, which she noticed and opened her eyes, raising a perfect eyebrow at him.

"What is it?"

"Feel ready to get back in?"

"As good a suggestion as any."

"I have something to show you, if you'd like."

"Will I like it?"

Harry considered for a few seconds. "Probably."

"Then lead the way."

Alright." He got up and offered her his hand, which she took, before he helped her to her feet. Together they headed back into the water. As they stepped in, Harry noted that it seemed a bit colder after standing under the sun for so long.

"I'm going to open a portal at the bottom," he told her as they stepped further in. "If I come out of the other side without my sense of direction, I might actually need saving. Have you considered yet?"

"You will find out soon."

"That's reassuring. If you want a bubblehead charm, now's the time."

"Which of us is the competent swimmer, Potter? Maybe _you_ should apply one."

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself. Here we go, follow me."

With those words, they dove in. Harry swam a bit further in, Daphne right beside him along the way, until the bottom was some four meters below. Then, he dove, submerging fully and heading downward face-first.

He procured his wand from his swimming trunks, aimed, and fired a jet of blue light. Where the spell hit the bottom, the water twisted, forming a spiral of darker blue. Harry looked at Daphne who was floating next to him, hair back in her swimming ponytail, and pointed to the portal.

At her nod of understanding, Harry dove further down until he reached it and swam through. The feeling of going through an underwater portal was not dissimilar to Floo travel, but portals were only two-way, thus lacked the risk of depositing you elsewhere if you were not careful.

For a few seconds Harry felt like he was being overtaken by a strong current, losing all sense of direction and being nothing but a toy at the whims of the ocean, before he was spat at the other end.

Thankfully, he wouldn't have to test Daphne's willingness to save his life this time. He didn't feel disoriented and could discern which way was down and which was up easily. He swam out of the way just in time for Daphne to come through. She, too, seemed to have no trouble centering herself and looking at him.

The sea they'd arrived in was darker, illuminated by the light of the portal, but there was no significant difference in water pressure. Harry pointed upwards and swam up, kicking his legs for momentum.

He broke the surface of the water not long before he was about to run out of air and drew in a greedy breath, mindful of going too high and hitting his head on the cave's ceiling. He saw Daphne emerging and had the presence of mind to quickly reach up and hold her head and prevent her from rising too high.

"Careful," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the tiny bubble of air they were using to breathe. "You'll hit your head."

Daphne looked around as she breathed, nothing how small the open space was and how low the cave ceiling was.

"Where are we?" she whispered at him.

"This is one of the entrances to the place I want to show you," he replied. "We're almost there. Just one last bit of swimming. Follow me. Ready?"

At her nod, he took a deep breath and dove down again. One hand on the rock above him, he followed the direction he knew he should take. The light from the portal was drawing further and further away, sinking them in near total darkness, but Harry kept swimming, vaguely aware of Daphne's presence at his heels.

He felt the rock abruptly stop above him and knew he'd reached the right spot. He emerged again, taking a breath, and reached forward blindly for the edge of the rock. He found it, and kept one hand there.

He heard rather than saw Daphne emerge near him.

"Potter?" she asked, after audibly drawing in a few breaths.

"Here," he said. "Come towards me."

Using his voice as guidance, Daphne glided closer until he could reach and find her shoulder. From there, he headed downward until he took hold of her hand.

"Hold onto me. We'll climb up here."

Together they rose from the edge of the rock, which had naturally formed similar to steps.

Now outside of the water and far from the portal's light, visibility was completely gone. Harry walked with sure steps, knowing the way, but Daphne didn't seem as sure of herself, judging by her grip on his hand.

"Potter?" she asked. "Can I cast some light?"

"Not yet," he said. "We're almost there."

"Then h-, how about a warming charm?"

For the first time Harry noted the cluttering of her teeth and the slight shaking of her hand and he berated himself for his thoughtlessness. Of course she would be cold down here, wet as she was and lacking any source of warmth. He aimed his wand with his free hand and cast a warming charm at her.

He could hear her relieved sigh. "Thank you," she said.

"No problem."

"Can you tell me what we have come here for? The suspense is killing me."

"Have you ever heard of the Flickering Man?"

He felt, or maybe he imagined, the raising of her eyebrow. "The Flickering Man?" she repeated. "Of course. It is a story for children. A cautionary tale about the dangers of meddling with time travel, meant to scare little kids from messing with time-turners and overeager researchers from delving too deep into things they should not touch outside of the safety of the Department of Mysteries."

Harry snorted. "Oh, he's a cautionary tale alright. As for him being a story … _Lumos_!"

The sudden light flooded the cave, such that even Harry had to cover his eyes for a few seconds until they got used to it. He detached the light from the edge of his wand and sent the little ball a bit higher, over their heads.

The cave wasn't particularly big, being almost twice his height at its highest, and about twice the length of his office in width. A small hole in the rock marked the other entrance, but it was what they could see at the furthest corner of this underground cavern that drew their attention.

There, illuminated by Harry's light, was a form. There really wasn't a much better description of it, as its characteristics could not be made out. It appeared to be vaguely masculine, and wearing some type of clothing, but there was no color and no distinguishing features. What made it even harder to tell, was the fact that the figure wasn't really there.

The two of them approached slowly, stopping at a distance of two meters away from the form. Upon closer inspection, the dark shape seemed to flicker in and out of existence, there and not several times in the span of one second. One of the shapes that could have been a hand seemed to be extended forward, as if reaching for them.

Harry didn't look too long at the form. He'd been here before. What was more interesting to him was Daphne's reaction. She looked awestruck, staring wide-eyed at the flickering figure, lacking words for several seconds.

"So, it was true," she whispered at last.

"Aye. It's not exactly a secret, but it's not common knowledge either. Figured you might like to see it up close."

"Fascinating."

She inspected the dark shape for a few minutes, taking steps in various directions to look from different was no difference in the form's pattern of presence and not, regardless of what she did or where she went.

"Can we even be here?" she asked after a while.

"I can," Harry replied with a smile.

"And I?"

"You are with me."

"I see. Can I … go closer?"

"It should be safe."

"Should?"

"People have been studying him for centuries," he said with a shrug. "No one was hurt from approaching."

Apparently satisfied, Daphne closed the last bit of distance, staring at flickering form from right next to it.

"Can I touch it?"

"Your hand would just pass through. He's not actually here. At least, not right now. What we're seeing is … what did they call it, temporal mirages? An afterimage, left behind by constant, endless time-travel between the moment the Man first initiated his magic and what is theorized to be every single moment in existence, past and future."

"Wow," she exclaimed, slowly extending her hand towards it. "I was not aware of that."

Harry took hold of her wrist before she actually touched the dark shape. Upon being stopped, she turned her head to him, askance.

"I wouldn't do that I were you."

"Why?' she asked, but nevertheless pulled her hand back as soon as he let her.

"As I said, people have tried it before, but I'd feel safer if you didn't. Someone once tried Apparating at the exact space the Man appears to occupy … It didn't end well."

"What became of him?" she asked, looking at him with wide, fascinated eyes. He shrugged.

"No one knows. He never appeared again. Theories vary wildly. Apparition has been illegal in here ever since."

She turned her eyes back to the shape of the Man, endlessly flickering in and out of existence.

"To think that the stories were true…" she whispered. "What happened to him?"

"Hm … who knows? You've heard the stories, right? Some say he was a mad researcher, greedily trying to uncover all the mysteries of magic and being punished for his hubris. Others say that he was simply a man who lost his family and, insane with grief, tried to re-write history. I've heard someone theorize that this is the result of someone killing himself in the past and creating a paradox. Others think this is no man at all, just a curious phenomenon. Many civilizations have their own version of an explanation for the Flickering Man."

"There is no official theory?"

"None. The Man, as far as we know, predates all established Ministries, even the British one, and folklore doesn't seem to agree on any one version over another. We're not even sure which time period he's originally from."

"Well, maybe the Flickering Man has not existed yet."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Maybe."

They looked in silence for another minute, before Daphne broke it again.

"He looks to be in agony."

Harry turned to her. "You think?"

"You do not?"

Harry looked at the form again, focusing on the dark, shapeless mass that would have been a head. He couldn't make out any features, but his imagination eagerly provided the face of a screaming man, doomed to eternal suffering and hopelessly reaching forward, begging for help from one of the thousands of people who come to stare at him over the millennia.

He repressed a shiver at the thought. He hoped that wasn't the case.

"I don't know," he replied instead.

"Can he perceive us?"

"Not as far as we can tell. At the very least, there's never been any sort of change regardless of what researchers have done or how they've tried to communicate. A Legilimens once tried to see if he could pick up any thoughts, but from what he said, it was almost like nothing was there."

She frowned. "I do not understand. Almost like nothing was there?"

"From what I read on the reports, he theorized that the presence was there much too briefly, flickering in and out of existence far too quickly to be picked up separately. Legilimency can't work over a split second, and any attempts to capture a moment of it or temporally lock the presence have failed."

"So nothing is known, even now."

"Not much," Harry agreed. "Sometimes, unintelligible runes will appear around the room, probably to do with the ritual the Man performed, but they're gone too quickly to copy, and nothing in particular seems to trigger them so the effect cannot be reproduced. It's a rare event."

"Do you suppose we might get to see it?"

"I think there's been, what, five recorded instances of that happening?"

Her face fell. "So, no?"

Harry chuckled at her childish behavior. "No, sorry."

They stared at the Flickering Man, ever reaching forward, for a few minutes longer.

"Are you about ready to head out?"

She nodded. "Shall we take the portal again?"

"Yeah, I'll have to close it from the outside."

"Let us depart, then. And Potter?"

Harry, who had turned towards the water, turned his gaze back towards her. "Hm?"

He was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, though perhaps in hindsight he shouldn't have been. After a few seconds of tenderness, she let him go.

"Thank you," she said. "You… did not have to do that. I appreciate it."

Harry, unable to hold back his stupid grin, managed to stammer out a "No problem."

"Do you think he would mind?" she wondered, nodding towards the dark, flickering shape. "If he can see us, do you think it is rude to kiss in front of him?"

Harry had read the reports of what tourists and passersby were wont to do in this cave before the ICW had cordoned off the area.

"Trust me, Daphne," he said as they made their way back into the water. "If he can see us, he's seen much, _much_ worse."

 **~H~**

Dinner was had in the dining room of their rented cottage. They'd packed up and left the beach not long after returning from the cave. The sun had began its descent, but it was still a few hours before sundown. After a quick change into regular clothing, they sat down to eat.

Harry called it a dining room, but really it was a wooden table set up in the middle of the kitchen, not a dedicated eating space. Still, this kind of style suited him and beyond a few derisive comments, Daphne did not seem too bothered by the enclosed space.

Once again, Harry wondered about the dimensions of her room. Did she share Astoria's disposition towards the enormous?

Thinking back on the day, the possibility that he might actually find out eventually didn't seem too crazy anymore.

"Potter." He was shaken off his thoughts by her voice. He looked up from his plate, focusing on her.

"Yes?"

"You have had the same dumb look on your face for some time now."

"Believe it or not, I was born like this."

Daphne snorted at his jape. "I am merely noting that you seemed to be out of sorts. I see no other reason why someone would try to wash down shined atlantic squid with Colombian red."

Harry looked down at his hand, curled around his glass, and at his plate. He had been about to do just that, but he doubted he'd have done differently if he'd been paying attention, either. Many of the dishes Daphne had pulled out of her bag earlier now lined their dinner table.

"Guilty, I suppose."

"What were you thinking about? Am I not entertaining enough, that you would be drawn into your thoughts this easily?"

"No," Harry said with a shake of his head. "On the contrary, that's what I was thinking."

"I do not understand."

"I was thinking about how entertaining and cooperative you've been all day. You've been … great. Better than I dared hope."

She raised an eyebrow. "I excel at everything I partake of, Potter. This should be clear to you by now."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

Harry shook his head. "I expected at least some form of apprehension after what happened last time. Not ... this. I'm glad and thankful, but I'm also confused."

"Do you make it a habit to question your good fortune?"

"Gift horses, I know. Still, I don't understand and it's bugging me more than I thought it would."

"And I suppose I should explain, lest you think too much on the matter and end up hurting yourself."

Harry said nothing, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that or even if he should say anything at all. Daphne drank from her glass before speaking.

"Does it have to be something convoluted?" she wondered. "I stand to gain nothing from antagonising you. So far, you've proven adequately skilled at providing entertainment. I lose nothing from going along with your little game."

Harry stared, wide-eyed, for a second or two. Her little chuckle pulled him out of his surprise and he scrambled for words.

"I-," he started, before clearing his throat and going again, slower. "I know that. I thought you didn't see it that way."

"Well, I do now. It is as you said. Our time together is coming to an end. If I trust you to keep your word, and I do, we will go our separate ways before long. I see no reason not to fully appreciate the lengths you go to in order to provide us both with a pleasant experience."

' _Huh_ ,' was Harry's thought after hearing this. He didn't stay frozen for as long, this time.

"Then, you are no longer angry over my approach?"

At this, her brow creased. "That is not true," she said. "I still have not forgiven you. I do not know that I ever will."

Harry frowned at this. "Then, what changed?"

"However much I dislike being toyed with, I have had the time to consider and think over some things. I cannot deny that you could have done much worse, and that most people in your position would have done so. Regardless of the real reason why you chose to go about things as you did-"

"Daphne, I told you-"

"Do not interrupt me," she said with a glare. Harry's lips formed a thin line, but he said nothing else.

"Regardless of what your real aim is, if you had wanted to take everything from us, you could have, and yet you did not. What you really hope to achieve does not matter to me. What matters is that, with this arrangement, you allow my family to escape a potentially catastrophic situation."

Harry watched her in silence, thoughts racing a mile a minute. Daphne wasn't done.

"While I certainly feel no gratitude towards you, considering everything you did, demanded, and the way you went about them, I can appreciate the reality of the situation. There is nothing to be gained from undue hostility between us."

She paused for a second to take her glass in hand.

"On the contrary," she said. "I find our time together to be … what was it you called it?" Harry did not answer the obviously rhetorical question. Instead, he watched her expression go from fake puzzlement to remembrance, then to a smile. "Ah, yes," she continued. " _Fun_."

"I'll drink to that." They clinked glasses, before draining them of what wine remained.

"Now come," she said as she drew her chair back and stood up. Harry, who had been about to spear another piece of squid, looked up at her sudden movement.

"You go," he said. "I'm not done."

She smiled at him, throwing her hair back with a smooth movement before making her way around the table.

"Are you certain?" she asked as she walked around him, leaving his field of vision. "Watching you struggle with the dish is amusing, but I would rather you exercised a much more entertaining past-time that you have proven yourself more than adequate at. The decision is yours."

He heard the soft flop of her shirt as it hit the floor.

He was halfway to his feet when he heard her voice again.

"Bring the wine."

 **~H~**

Harry awakened some time later, Daphne laying on his side in the position she seemed to unconsciously favor and he was growing more accustomed with.

A look to the side revealed that the sun had long since set.

"Is it night yet?" he heard her soft voice from under his chin. Her eyes were doubtless closed.

"Aye," he replied.

She said nothing for some time, such that Harry thought she might fallen asleep again.

"Five dates you were promised," she murmured unexpectedly, her words reminding Harry of another conversation they'd shared, "and five dates you shall have. I slept with you of my own free will; but understand, Potter, that once our allotted time is past, so too will this arrangement cease. Do you understand?"

"I do."

She wiggled slightly, getting more comfortably on his side. She still hadn't opened her eyes. "That is good."

"It's late. Go back to sleep."

"Must we not depart?" she said, sounding not particularly thrilled with the notion. "Unless your plans include tomorrow?"

Harry smiled, though he knew she could not see. "There are still places to see. We can make it a weekend trip if you'd like."

"Mm," she murmured, and he could feel the pleased sound reverberating through her chest. "I would."

"Then it's settled," he said. "Now go back to sleep."

She murmured something unintelligible before giving up. Slowly, Harry felt her breathing evening out. He closed his own eyes, allowing his consciousness to drift.

 **~H~**

"Have you a concrete plan?" she asked the following day, after they'd had breakfast.

"Well," Harry said, bringing his hand to his chin in thought. "I'd originally planned to take us elsewhere, before I heard about the swimming. We can still go there. I have everything we'll need in my bag."

"Where is there?"

"Some field in Switzerland. Went there once for work, it's stayed in my mind ever since."

"Are we Apparating?"

He shook his head. "I have a Portkey."

"Where did you get it?"

"Bought it from the ITA."

"I was not aware you could do that."

"It's more expensive to buy a Portkey than get a trip on a public one."

That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. With a wave of their wands, all their things were gathered and the cottage was left exactly as they'd found it. They walked outside, each shouldering their own bag, until they stood by the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach below. Harry fished inside his bag until he pulled out a simple cup, which he held out to Daphne.

"Did you have fun here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and didn't answer.

"Humor me."

"I've already told you, Potter. I shan't repeat myself just to soothe your insecurities."

Harry sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Ready?"

She nodded, putting one delicate finger in contact with the cup. Harry's wand tapped it once, and they were gone.

They appeared at their destination, and instantly Daphne had to put a hand up to hold her hat, which threatened to be swept off by the breeze.

Around the little hill they'd appeared on were endless fields as far as the eye could see, hued in shades of yellow and red where flowers grew or green for simple grass. The breeze they'd felt swept through the endless rows of flowers, making them bend along its whims and whistling softly.

In the distance, enormous mountain masses loomed.

Harry thought to ask about a warming charm, but saw that Daphne was already applying one to herself. While it wasn't exactly cold, the difference with their previous environment was palpable.

Harry watched her for her reaction. While there was no exclamation of admiration or anything of that sort, he did note the softening of her features and the soft quirk of her mouth as she took in the view around them.

"What do you think?"

"That I have, perchance, been remiss in visiting other countries."

Harry laughed. "Well, if nothing else, we'll make sure to-"

Harry didn't complete his sentence, humor forgotten as he frowned and came to a sudden stop from the slow walk they'd taken up.

Daphne took another step before she noticed his halt and turned a questioning look at him.

"What is the matter, Potter?"

"Can't you feel it?" Harry asked, turning his head this way and that as he scanned the horizon. "An Anti-Apparition jinx just went up around us. It wasn't supposed to be here."

Daphne frowned and closed her eyes. After a second her expression contorted into a grimace when she looked at him again. Harry's keen eyes spotted the faint shivering of her failed attempt at Apparition.

"It is as you said. Who could be responsible for this? Should we be worried?"

Harry's eyes had focused on something in the distance, and his jaw was set. His expression darkened, the first hints of anger starting to show.

"Most definitely." With these words, his wand appeared on hand. He turned to Daphne. "Listen, we have a bit of time before they get here. They're not looking for you, they're here for me. I can hide you, deep below the earth, until everything is over."

He raised his wand, pointing it at her.

"I want you to be very still and not panic, okay? This might feel uncomfortable."

Daphne had her own wand in her hand as she glared at him.

"Cease pointing that thing at me."

"Daphne-"

"You think me craven, that I would run and hide while you risked your life?"

Harry lowered his hand, expression softening a bit. He said nothing for several seconds, expression almost curious as he regarded her.

"If you stay," he enunciated carefully, "I won't be able to guarantee your safety."

"I did not ask you to. I am staying, and that is final."

"Alright then." If Daphne was surprised by how quickly he accepted her decision, she didn't show it. "There's about eight people approaching by broom. They'll surround us in less than four minutes. What's our plan?"

Daphne got to thinking immediately, as if she'd never doubted she'd be the one making the decisions. If not for the gravity of the situation, Harry would have snorted.

"That depends," she said. "Are you half as good with your wand as rumor would have you be?"

There were many ways Harry could have replied. Some modest, some bragging and some thorough. Perhaps even a jape, however unfitting the situation.

"Yes," was all he said.

"Then, it falls to you to see us through this. I will, as they say, have your back, that you may focus your attention offensively on those in front of you."

"Simple and direct," Harry said with a nod. "I like it."

Both tossed aside their bags and moved closer, turning away from each other and standing almost back to back, wands at the ready.

"Let us see what the Head Auror position is worth these days, shall we?" Daphne said as she finally saw the rapidly growing spots on the horizon.

They said nothing else as they watched the fliers approach. In such a clear day, they saw them from quite the distance away, and it took a solid couple of minutes until they'd gotten close enough to make out properly.

"Are you afraid?" she asked him softly once the fliers had landed, some distance away, and were closing the last bit of distance on foot from all directions.

"Yes."

"I thought you were supposed to be brave and fearless."

Harry shook his head, never taking his eyes off the people in front of him. "You can't be brave if you're fearless."

They said nothing more as the people responsible for the jinx had reached them, brooms discarded. Harry surveyed them, not letting his expression change. A group of men and women of mixed nationalities, all with their wands drawn. Expressions set; neither nervous nor eager. Professional.

This meant mercenaries.

One of them, the man straight across from Harry, took a step forward. He looked to be about forty, though with wizards it was never easy to tell.

"Head Auror," he greeted Harry, voice steady and deep. "A moment of your time? We have but a single request."

"Before that," Harry said "help me out here, I'm trying to place your accent. I want to say … Bulgaria?"

The man allowed a small smile on his face.

"Close. Romania. A question for a question, then?"

Harry shook his head.

"No more questions. I'll just say a series of words, you don't have to say anything. Ready?" Harry didn't wait for a reply, watching the man carefully. "Vasile, Lupei, Albescu." He paused, having caught the brief flicker in the man's face.

"As I live and breathe, Apostol Lupei," Harry said. "You're a long way from home."

"I could say the same about you, mister Potter." A small surge of movement went on among the group of mercenaries, making Harry tense. "There is no need for this to get out of hand," Lupei said. "Just acquiesce to our demand, and no spells need be cast."

"And that would be?"

Lupei's eyes narrowed. "The Wand, mister Potter. You will lead us to the Deathstick, and surrender ownership of it. Do so, and you shall not be harmed any more than necessary."

The edges of Harry's mouth quirked upwards as a faint memory of the past resurfaced.

"You seem to be labouring under the delusion that I am going to come quietly."

The mercenaries tensed, some shuffling from foot to foot. Not obviously nervous, but definitely wary.

"Can you afford not to?" Lupei asked, eyes flickering behind Harry. "If you resist, things will get violent. Your paramour might get … injured."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"You think threatening her makes it more likely that you'll walk out of here alive?"

Lupei was not intimidated.

"The Wand, mister Potter, or neither of you will be spared."

"The Elder Wand is not for the likes of you."

"It's not myself I retrieve it for."

Harry shook his head. He didn't bother to explain that whoever his employer was, he probably wasn't the best person to be responsible for the Wand of Destiny, either.

"Listen to me," he said. "This ends in either of two ways. Option one, you walk away. You abandon this folly of confronting me over something you can't begin to comprehend, and leave. If you do this, I will return to my date as if nothing ever happened. I will not hold it against you. I will not look for you."

As Harry spoke, his gaze slowly moved from one mercenary to another, making sure his message got across.

"The other option is, we fight. Now normally, I'd try to get as many of you alive as possible. Professional habit, you might say. But as Lupei mentioned, my lady friend is present. The possibility of her getting hurt … distresses me, as do threats against her, so this time things will be … _different_."

He paused again, making sure he'd met the eye of every mercenary within his field of vision.

"Raise your wands against me, and you will die," he continued after a few seconds. "I'll keep one, maybe two of you, alive." His mouth opened in a humorless grin. "I haven't decided which one yet."

His words had the desired effect of shaking the group, though the signs were small. Still, a slight tremble of the hand here, a quivering of the lip there, or a flitting of the eyes, and Harry knew. They were beginning to doubt. To look past their numerical advantage and feel fear.

Lupei found his voice first.

"We will not be swayed by-"

"Oh," Harry said, ignoring the rest of the Romanian's sentence. "Bully for you."

And then his wand snapped up, fire and fury blazing into existence from its tip.

 **~D~**

Daphne paid only minimal attention to Potter's conversation with the leader of the group. While she did note some interesting bits – she filed away the information about the Elder Wand for later inspection – she was more focused on the three people who were standing in front of her in a loose semi circle. The other five were on Potter's side.

Confident as she was in her skills, she didn't like the three on one odds. Still, she knew that all she had to do was keep them from threatening Potter, and that should be enough. If he was really as good as he was supposed to be, five on one should be doable.

She could, as the phrase went, play Keeper for a while to buy Potter the time he needed.

Across from her were two women and a man, two of which were dark of skin. She assessed them with her eyes, noting their grip on their wands, making educated guesses on each person's capabilities based on their posture, grip and bearing.

She did feel Potter tense behind her. Acting on instinct, she began moving at the same time he did. Her window for offense was short, depending on this surprise attack, and she did not wish to waste it.

Two curses and a charm left her wand in the span of the next two seconds, taking so long only because she had to pause to aim between spells. The first curse, meant to fracture bones on contact, went wide. Daphne didn't spare the thought to chastise herself on missing, no doubt the result of nervousness that should not have been there. Instead, she kept moving.

The second curse, a copy of the first one, found its mark but was blocked by the man's instantly cast shield.

The charm landed on a patch of ground by one of the women and the flowers on it grew, becoming monstrously long and acquiring both fangs and a deep-rooted hunger for human flesh.

Behind her, she could hear an almost deafening crackle and feel the searing heat of fire on her back. She could not see what Potter or his opponents were doing, but the fire was obviously his doing. What manner of spell was that?

She could not continue her assault, as the woman that she'd missed was already casting at her. The brief second she spent wondering about Potter cost her, as her opponent's first cutting curse skimmed her shoulder, drawing blood.

Daphne snarled, a brilliant shield emerging into existence in front of her and absorbing the follow up spells from two of her opponents, the third still busy dealing with her enchanted flowers.

Daphne had frozen for a moment, the cacophony of battle all around her getting to her nerves and that resulted in her shield faltering quickly under the combined assault. From behind her, she could hear screams, both of pain and of shouted spells, intermixed with explosions and other, weirder sounds that she could not place. She'd only heard commotion like this once before, during the Battle for Hogwarts.

None of the voices were Potter's, his spell-casting silent and his defense stalwart. His back was still almost pressed against hers, and in her sudden, unexpected feeling of fear for her life, it gave her the reassurance that she needed to push past that fear.

She chose to take a step to the side to dodge a particularly slow but nasty curse, and a quick move of her wand drew up a pillar of earth to block another, ugly yellow curse that she knew _Protego_ would fail against.

Following Potter's example, she aimed her wand and released a stream of fire from its tip, nowhere near the inferno that she could still hear rage behind her, but enough to force two of her opponents to cast defensively and mask Daphne from view momentarily.

The third mercenary, one of the women, had been transfiguring pebbles into malformed rats with vicious looking fangs, which started skittering towards her. A _Bombarda_ aimed at the ground took care of most of them, and a _Finite Incantatem_ ended the stragglers.

She knew the next two curses coming her way. She cast the counter curses, one at herself and the other forming a pale blue veil through which the second spell passed and dispersed. The first one hit her shoulder harmlessly.

She would have liked to cast offensively once more, but the third opponent rejoining the fray forced her to bring up a shield again.

When one of the mercenaries suddenly started directing her spells towards Potter's back rather than Daphne, she had to cast a second shield charm to her left to block them.

"Cowards!" Daphne shouted, before sending the the soil and rock unearthed by her earlier _Bombarda_ careening towards them, not having the time to aim them properly but not caring about it either.

Some of the debris was redirected away and some of it was blown into smithereens in midair, but it served in giving her a moment's respite. She took the given time to properly engage the left-most assailant, exchanging quick-fire spells meant to pierce, ignite or break. She managed to land a cut on the woman's shoulder, but her savage joy was short-lived as she took a burn on her left leg in retaliation.

A touch of her wand numbed the pain, but she was back on the defensive from all three enemies again.

She felt Potter's presence vanish from behind her and she chanced a quick look backwards. She saw him advancing forwards, fire dispersed and his arm in a flurry of motion as he cast spells almost faster than her eye could follow. Two of the assailants seemed to already be down, one charred beyond recognition and the other laying on the ground, a glazed look in his eyes.

A part of her, weirdly detached from the situation and rather childlike in attitude, felt rather disappointed at being unable to just continue watching Potter _truly_ fight, but as a spell zipped past her torso she realized that she could not afford to look away anymore, and the thought left her as quickly as it had come.

Once again she was pushed back by the combined assault of the three foreigners, hiding behind her _Protego_ charm. She poured all she had on her shield, while simultaneously keeping a steady stream of rocks and soil to throw in the path of curses that she knew or suspected would outright break it.

She felt sweat run down her brow, whether from the previous inferno or the exertion she didn't know, and her arm was straining to keep her wand up and the shield active.

Her eyes widened when she saw a boulder, magically unearthed, flung her way. It smashed against her shield and cracked it, making her vision blank for a second as she staggered backwards from the backlash. She recovered in a second or two, just in time to block a spell, the next one thankfully going wide.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of Potter's group enter her field of vision and raise his hand, ready to curse Potter in the back.

"No!" she snarled, abandoning her shield as she swung to the left, throwing her wand hand forward with great effort, like lobbing a stone, a dark red curse leaving its tip and finding the mercenary on the abdomen. The man was blown backwards and away from her sight as she swung back around, hoping to be in time to focus back on her original three opponents.

As she moved she felt a sharp, piercing pain on her hand, noting with detached horror as the index and middle finger on her left hand were torn off, the mangled remains of her hand quick to spurt blood.

She could not help the gasp of agony that escaped her lungs, but she still had the presence of mind to hastily raise a shield between herself and the mercenaries. What little force she could put behind the spell blocked the first curse and the second, but gave way under the third. She swung her wand, managing to bat away the next spell coming her way before raising it again in an attempt at another shield. The dark purple curse slammed into her chest, and her movement ceased.

She felt her feet leave the ground, she saw the sky in her line of vision as the world tilted and she heard a terrible voice screaming her name.

Then, darkness.

 **~D~**


	7. Step 5: Victory

Happy belated New Year, FFnet.

 **~TMC~**

 **Step 5: Victory**

 **~D~**

"Daddy, she's awake!"

"Quiet, now. Give her time."

When Daphne came to, she did so slowly and groggily. Her first sensation was one of discomfort, which grew to aching when she became more alert.

She opened hazy eyes, and slowly her vision came into focus. The faces of her family crowded her, in varying degrees of visible worry.

"Father?" she asked, her voice coming out raspy and wheezy. She coughed, feeling a scratching on her throat.

"Be at peace, daughter. All is well now."

Was it? It didn't feel like it. Daphne tried to move, to sit up on the headboard, but a wracking pain in her chest made her abandon the effort barely into the movement.

Her mother reacted to her grunt.

"Easy, sweetheart. Try not to move so much."

"I heard you kicked, like, enormous amounts of arse. Way to go."

"How are you feeling, Daphne?" her father asked, giving a quick glare to her sister, who grinned unashamedly down at her.

She took a few seconds of breathing steadily before replying. "My chest … It hurts. And my hand … my hand ..."

Her father's face screwed up in worry and powerless frustration. "The spells must be wearing off. I'll get a healer."

As Fabio left the room, Daphne turned her head to her mother and sister. "Where … Mungo's?"

Astoria shook her head. "Nuh-uh. We're in Bern."

"What … happened?"

"We only know what mister Potter told us," her mother admitted. "That you were attacked while on a picnic, and you were cursed. He brought you here and a healer firecalled us."

"Potter … he is here?"

"Um, he-"

"Probably off hunting down whoever did this to you," Astoria cut their mother off.

Karina nodded. "The Swiss Ministry has mobilised their entire Auror corps. British Aurors have also been called in. It's quite the spectacle, really."

Daphne would have snorted if the action wouldn't cause her severe pain. Spectacle indeed.

Her father returned then, followed by a female healer.

"You're awake," the healer noted. "How are you feeling?"

Daphne couldn't help the grimace on her face as the ache in her torso continued to intensify. "... hurts."

"I can help with that."

Daphne dutifully drank the offered potion phial, using her good hand to take hold of it. While she did, the healer was casting away at her. A couple of spells she recognized, most not.

Almost immediately, the pain started to fade.

"Better?" the healer asked as she stowed away her wand.

"Mmm, very."

"You might feel sleepy quickly. This is normal."

"What … happened to me?"

"The curse you were hit with breaks up your ribcage and pushes bone fragments into your bloodstream, which quickly becomes fatal. Thankfully, Mister Potter brought you here in time and we were able to prevent most of the damage."

"And my … my hand?"

"Can you move it?"

Daphne tried, and the hand did obey her mental commands. It hurt to move, but move it did, and after a second Daphne was staring down at her open palm. It was surreal, she vividly recalled her fingers being torn away in a rather visceral manner. Now … they were still attached to her hand but … something didn't feel right. The scar where the curse had blown past her fingers was rough and wide, colored in a hideous, angry red. The fingers themselves looked … pale. Clunky. Moving them was painful and slow.

Daphne swallowed hard. "What-... what is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, dear. It's just that the spell that tore your fingers dealt damage that normally cannot be reversed by regular means. Dark magic wounds can't be healed, and limbs lost to it can't be reattached."

"How did you … fix me?"

"We stuck the fingers back in place and, though the cut itself is still there, magic holds them together and connects your nerves. It's not healed, but it should function properly and just like your normal fingers given time and care."

"So … my fingers are dead?"

"Well, if you want to get technical, I suppose so. But really, the difference will hardly be noticeable."

A cold feeling of dread settled down on Daphne's stomach as she stared at her reattached fingers. On closer inspection, the difference seemed exceedingly obvious to her. The fingers were pale, no doubt lacking actual blood, and her normally smooth skin looked hard and unwieldy.

She was marked; imperfect. Visibly so. And that could prove dangerous.

It took her a few seconds of being lost in her thoughts to realize that her father and the healer were talking.

"... regiment of spells. After a week of that, I think it's safe to say there will be no residual risk. Now, I'll go brew your next dose of potions. Again, if you suddenly feel sleepy, don't panic. It's normal."

WIth a bow of her head, the healer left. Daphne barely paid her any mind, gaze transfixed on her fingers.

"Father," she said.

"Yes, daughter?"

"Father, my hand."

"It'll get better, I promise."

"It is ugly, Father."

She knew her father understood her meaning by the momentary hesitation in his reply.

"Nonsense." But she would not be placated.

"Do you think that this … might affect me?"

No one spoke for a few seconds, the air heavy with the question. It was her sister who broke it first.

"You were badly marked during the Battle, Sister," Astoria reminded her. "The contract did not act up then. I think you're safe."

Daphne could easily recall the weeks of dread following the Battle of Hogwarts and her injury, fearing that the markings on her flesh would breach the terms of the contract. She remembered the nights she spent wide awake, afraid that a piece of paper written by a dead man would at best ruin her life and, at worst, ruin her family.

She did not want to go through that again.

"How can we … be sure?"

"James' clauses did not specify anything about your skin being marred or scarred," her mother noted. "Some degree of caution is, of course, wise, but as long as you keep yourself within the proper numbers there should be no breach."

Despite herself, Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. She'd heard all this before, years ago, but still her mother's words brought her comfort.

As soon as she was old enough to understand, her parents had explained to her what she had to do. To become. That her body was not really her own. That she had to live her life and shape her form according to the wishes of a dead man that she'd never met, in accordance to a farce of a contract; a mistake that was never meant to be followed through but the terms of which still had to be obeyed.

She had been angry, at first. For years she seethed inwardly, chafing at her lack of choice, of say in matters of her own body. As time went by and her beauty became such an integral part of her identity, one that she enjoyed, she lost most of her fury but never forgot that the initial decision wasn't hers- _could not_ have been hers.

"I will confirm with our lawyers," her father assured her, "but I think your mother has the right of it."

The energy the momentary surge of dread had granted her was leaving her, and suddenly Daphne felt very tired. Her thoughts became slow, and her eyelids drooped.

"I…" she tried to speak, but her words became slurred. "I…"

"Hush," her mother whispered, caressing her cheek as Daphne's eyes closed. "Sleep, dear."

She did.

 **~D~**

When next she woke, there was no sunlight coming in from the window, and the lights had been dimmed. After blinking for a few seconds, she took stock of her surroundings. Hers was the only bed in the room; a pleasant thing, however expected. She was also alone.

She was sort of glad that her family hadn't decided to just stay in her room doing nothing while she slumbered, but she was surprised that no one was actually there.

Her thoughts turned to Harry Potter. Their last outing replayed itself in her mind. Pleasant thoughts, for the most part, even now sending tingles down her spine and making her lips curl into the ghost of a smile, but the last part of it was not so pleasant. They had been attacked. She'd fought.

And lost. Badly.

From the sheer fact that she was alive she surmised that Potter had managed to prevail and had saved her, which was fortunate. She wondered if he had sustained any injuries. For that matter, where was he? Too busy directing the Auror contingents? That wouldn't surprise her, and her parents did mention that he had only shown his face when he'd brought her to the hospital before vanishing.

Still, that didn't make too much sense. She'd have expected him to have at least dropped by to check up on her health by now. Potter liked her. That much was painfully obvious. And he was the sort of person that would feel responsible for her injury and feel guilt over it, so it didn't make sense that he would just drop her off and leave her to her own devices.

Her earlier thoughts, about finding it strange that she had been left alone in her room resurfaced. Would her family really leave her alone, even if it was night? Surely one of them would have conjured a bed and stayed with her. But no one was here.

Or was there? Potter hadn't visited her yet, and that seemed out of character, and Daphne refused to believe that she'd misjudged him. For that matter, hadn't he used an Invisibility Cloak during the Battle, years ago? Rumors of Potter owning such an item had been circulating for years.

She raised her head and looked around the room, trying to spot any irregularities. It might be that there wasn't enough light, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The room was completely empty.

"Potter?" she spoke into the empty room, her voice coming out unsure, and lower in volume than she'd meant it to.

She waited a few seconds. Nothing. "Potter, are you here?"

She felt her cheeks burn up with embarrassment. This was ridiculous. She was speaking to empty air, for magic's sake. Perhaps her brain had been addled by her injury.

"Potter," she said again, this time louder. "You had _better_ be here, and you had better show up right _now_ , because if I am talking to myself like an imbecile I will _never_ forgive you."

She grew more and more irritated the longer nothing happened, and she resigned herself to the fact that she had just had a moment of sheer stupidity. Thankfully, no one had been here to witness it.

Then, she heard a sigh.

Her eyes immediately zeroed in on the corner of the room where the sound originated. She saw a shimmer in the air before that spot _split_ , revealing first a head, then a hand, until Potter had completely removed the Cloak and bunched it up into a tight ball.

He was in a corner, covered in shadows, but she could recognize his form anywhere.

"That was completely unfair," he said as he walked closer to her bed, finally coming into the dim light. He looked haggard, but a quick inspection revealed no injuries. "If I had really not been here, would you have been angry with me for talking to yourself?"

"That, or I would have blamed the potions."

"You're insane."

"It worked."

He breathed heavily. "I suppose it did."

She felt her energy dissipate, and had to lean back down on the pillow. She could not see Potter from this angle.

"Come closer. Sit," she said.

She heard him walk over, then the scraping of a chair before he set it down next to her bed and sat on it. She turned her head sideways and saw him. He looked terrible. Tired, worn. Then again, she certainly didn't present the best of images right now, either. This knowledge would have appalled her if she could muster up the energy to care.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Do you want me to lie to you?"

He flinched. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Neither spoke for a minute.

"Why did you not show yourself earlier?"

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me. Your father had strong words with me about seeing you again."

"He is shaken. It will pass."

"He blames me for what happened."

"He is not thinking clearly right now. Surely you understand this."

He shook his head once before pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes.

"He's not wrong."

Daphne blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, he's not wrong to blame me."

"Explain."

"It is my fault we were attacked. At least partly."

"I get that you think that, Potter," she said annoyance coloring her tone. "Now tell me why."

"I sort of … let it spread, that we were leaving. Portkey records aren't meant to be public, but some of my acquaintances spread the rumor that we'd be travelling abroad that day."

Daphne processed this. "And this enabled the mercenaries to plan the attack?"

He nodded.

"Why did you do it?"

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I just wanted some people to find out that we'd be going out. I never stopped to think that some might consider this an open invitation, or that you'd be caught in the middle. I was stupid. I didn't _think_."

"I … I see." Daphne said, still processing this new information. So, Potter had discreetly let it spread that he was taking her abroad. She could believe that he didn't consider that some might use this as an opportunity to attack him, away from the safety of his Aurors. Potter was rash by nature. What did he hope to accomplish, though? Just to let people know that he had gotten into her bed? She didn't think he was that base. There must have been something else.

"Why did you do it?" she echoed. He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter now. It has occurred to me since that this … _plan_ , of mine, is beyond madness."

"... Potter?" she asked, uncertain of what he meant.

He raised his gaze, looking her straight in the eye. He looked disgustingly ashamed.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," he said, voice positively dripping with sincerity. Daphne wished that she could slap him.

"I'm sorry for having put your through this; _all_ of this," he continued. "For forcing you to go out with me, for being around you and putting your life at risk."

"Potter-"

"It's over," he said, ignoring her attempt at getting a word in. "I can't take back the past, but I can at least do this much. I'll void the contract tomorrow, and you need not see me ever again after tonight."

She blinked a couple of times, fighting down a sudden, irrational burst of panic. He was feeling guilty; how sweet, however expected. And what a completely wrong way to go about it. Was this his idea of making things right?

"Do you truly think so little of my promises?"

"Daphne-"

"Shut _up_ , Potter. I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it. Five dates you were promised, five dates you shall have."

Curse him for putting her in a position of actually _defending_ this ridiculous agreement. It couldn't end. Not now; not like this.

"But-"

"But nothing. I'm not so weak-willed that I would run for the hills over something like this. If, however, you insist on feeling obligated to me, I have a way for you to redeem yourself."

He looked at her for a few seconds, lips pursed. She almost thought that he would refuse her despite how guilty he felt, but his expression grew resigned after a while and Daphne knew she had him. "And what is that?"

"Answer me, honestly, why you did all this. Why you chose _me_ , of all people. The truth, this time."

Potter hesitated, deliberating with himself for a minute. Daphne didn't look at him, didn't say anything, didn't move. It was all up to him. He would come clean with her now, or he would never get another opportunity to earn her trust. She found herself quite anxious over which of the two would happen.

"I plan on making my move for Director soon," he admitted. "Everything is in place. I am almost ready."

"And where do I fit into your schemes?"

"You were necessary because you fit several unique criteria. With you at my side, visibly so, I could finally gain support among some pureblood families that were undecided about me, several members of which have key roles within the Ministry."

Daphne considered his words for a while. "My family was never involved with Voldemort," she noted.

Harry nodded. "Indeed. The Greengrass family is also one of the oldest and most respected, in regards to lineage. You have managed to save both your fortune and your reputation intact after both wars. If I dated you, not only would I show the purebloods that I am not playing favorites, but I would also not lose any of my existing allies."

"There are others that fit this criteria, Potter."

He grimaced. "A few, yes, but none that I am particularly inclined to approach or could believably do so without making my intentions obvious. Select information about the contract has been leaked by people I know, and I am quite publicly and enthusiastically courting you. We're the same age, went to the same school at the same year, it all fits."

Daphne took in his explanation, not moving at all in her bed. Eventually, she spoke.

"Is that the truth?"

He grimaced. "It is as close to the truth as I can offer that you will accept."

"So … you are using me?"

Potter flinched, as if physically hurt. "I'm sorry. I know how-"

"Why are you apologising?" She cut him off. "This is great news."

He blinked at her. "It-... it is?"

"Of course. I was worried for a while, I will readily admit. I was uncertain that my faith in you was not misplaced. But now I am … relieved. I was not wrong about you."

The look of utter bafflement on his face would fuel mirthful thoughts for months, she just knew.

"Think no more on this, Potter, lest you hurt that brain of yours."

"Err, okay."

"Now, tell me what you did to our attackers. Did any survive?"

He pursed his lips, looking angry and a little bit embarrassed at the same time. "None. After you went down, I couldn't take any risks with trying to take them alive. I had to end the fight quickly."

She looked at him, examining his face. He had killed them; _all_ of them. "Is that what you tell yourself?"

He offered no reply.

"And how will you go about finding their employer, now that they are dead and can no longer speak?"

His brow furrowed, as if troubled by a sudden thought. She couldn't imagine what. Was it something she said?

He shook his head once, clearing it of whatever wayward thought had distracted him.

"There are leads to follow," he said. "There always are. Money, for one. People, for another. Someone from the ITA let someone _else_ get a sense of our destination, and told them of the other Portkey I bought. I will find this person. And I will find who was behind this."

She was almost surprised by the steel in his voice. Even unkempt and tired as he was, at this moment, Potter looked honestly scary.

"And how will you do that from over here?"

"My people are working on it."

"Your people?"

"People that will get the job done. People I trust."

She smiled. "Good. Make them _suffer_ before they die."

His expression cleared, before he turned frowning eyes her way.

"Do not look at me like that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. She clenched her hands to hide their trembling. "They scarred me, Potter. They must pay."

"You are the prettiest woman I know, Daphne."

She took in a deep breath, calming herself. Potter could not possibly have thought of why this was such a big deal to her. He hadn't lived her life, hadn't had to deal with the same fears. Beauty was not just an option for her, it was a condition for her continued well-being and the prosperity of her family.

"I … I do not like being scarred, Potter."

He expression positively melted at her words. "I love your scars," he whispered. "They are an expression of who you are, of what you have done and stood for. They make you more beautiful than ever before. Never be ashamed of them."

Daphne could not help the color that rushed to her cheeks, or the small smile that curled her lips. Curse the love-struck fool, and thrice curse her for letting his nonsense affect her. This was getting out of hand.

She cleared her throat, making sure her voice wouldn't come out high pitched. "Let us speak no more of this," she said as she laid her head back. "I am tired. We still have plans to make, so I expect to see you tomorrow at some point. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"When is your endgame?"

"What?"

"When do you set this plan of yours in motion?"

"New Year's Eve. Our final date will be on the Ministry's New Year celebration."

"Good, that gives me a few days to shape up."

"Don't push yourself."

She ignored him. "It is time for me to rest, Potter," she said, closing her eyes for good measure.

"You want me to go?" she heard him say.

"I care not. But speak no more."

He didn't. As her breathing slowed and her tiredness caught up to her, she heard nothing from the rest of the room. As she drifted off to sleep, she considered the fact that Potter might have left, or he might have stayed with her the rest of the night, probably not getting much sleep, himself.

The thought was not unpleasant.

 **~D~**

She did not, in fact, see him the next day. Instead she awoke to a note, apologising and telling her that Potter had to leave on urgent business. What that entailed she did not know, but she could make a few guesses, and thus was not angered.

She was feeling palpably better in the morning. The aches on her chest were fading, thanks to the diligent work of the Swiss healers, and her hand felt more natural, the spellwork slowly settling and her body growing accustomed to the new feeling.

Her family was there again, coming in around noon. Dutifully, Daphne told them about Potter's visit, and most of what he'd said.

"He really offered to let you off?" Astoria asked her, surprise in her voice. Daphne nodded.

"Good," her father said, pleased. "Then you need not worry any longer. Much as I respect Mister Potter, it cannot be denied that trouble seems to brew around him."

Daphne frowned at her father. "I could not accept, Father. You know this."

"What?"

"Nothing has changed. Our agreement stands."

Her father's face grew angry. Once, this would have made Daphne back down. "Even after this? After what happened to you because of him?"

"He came clean," she noted. "He admitted to his mistake. I respect that." _Please, let that be enough_.

"But-"

"Not only that," Daphne cut him off, rushing to offer more. "I have already given my word. Five dates, I promised him. I will not break my word."

Her father pursed his lips. She levelled a hard stare at him. It was him that had made her like this. From early in her life, he had hammered in the need for one's word to be solid. For people to believe that when you say you would do something, you would. A businessman who wasn't trusted to keep his end of the bargain was one with no future.

"Daphne," he started, speaking slowly. "I understand how you feel, but consider the risks."

"I have," she said, staring down at her dead fingers. "And I do not find them severe enough to break my word. Potter has proven that, if nothing else, he can protect me."

"You did nearly die," Astoria pointed out, face unusually solemn. Daphne did not like that look on her face. Astoria should not be troubled; ever. Least of all because of her.

Even this, knowing that her sister was siding with their parents on the matter, was not enough to shake her.

"But I survived," she pointed out. "Besides, if I know him even a little, he will never allow us to be caught unawares again."

Karina spoke up for the first time in that conversation. "You speak about you and Mister Potter as if there's more to your future together beyond one more outing."

Daphne glared at her mother, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. Was she trying to mock her? "You know what it is that I mean." That would be impossible, anyway. "I am confident that I am not at risk anymore."

"You're being quite insistent," her mother said. "Is it truly because of the value of your word? Nothing else?"

"I do not know what you are insinuating, but I do value my word. I will not break it, and that is final."

She felt rather tired after that conversation, but at least her family relented. Whether she convinced them or they chose not to press her because of her condition, she did not know. In the end, her family trooped out of the room to let her rest.

The next morning, she amused herself by reading the Daily Prophet her parents had left behind. Potter and she had made front page. A picture taken from their date to the Ciel, arm-locked and smiling, was being displayed, beneath it a recounting of whatever was made public regarding the attack. Little was known about the attackers, but people knew that Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass had gone for a picnic to Switzerland and were ambushed.

Everything from a Death Eater resurgence to an inferi outbreak was being thrown around. It was amusing to Daphne, especially as the articles painted her in the guise of the damsel and Potter as the gallant knight who had managed to rescue her but, tragically, not before she had suffered serious injuries.

Well, Potter had wanted to make it known that they were dating. That, if nothing else, had worked splendidly.

Around noon, she was feeling well enough to receive visitors. Astoria helped her with her appearance, keeping some of the haggard look of someone recently injured but making sure her beauty shone even through that.

Many people came to visit her. Acquaintances of the family, business partners, even some emboldened young men, though she made sure to get rid of those quickly. Still, being hospitalized actually turned out to be quite profitable. Everyone had a good word and a smile to give, and generally acted much softer than they would in any other setting.

Ironically, a few of the people who came to her, she'd met through Potter at the Ciel.

Everyone, of course, questioned her on the attack, some in more subtle ways than others. Thankfully, as her cursing was still recent, the visits were kept brief. Long enough for Daphne to assure good relations, but short enough that she could believably dodge any needling by diverting the subject or playing up her discomfort.

Visiting hours closed some time in the afternoon, though of course that did not count for her family members. Astoria waltzed in, an opened letter in her hands and a grin on her face.

"This just came for you," she said when she sat on the chair next to her bed.

"Who sent it?"

"Your boyfriend."

While technically true, however temporarily, Daphne still sent a cross look to her sister, who ignored it.

"Give it here."

"You are cordially invited to a soiree-" Astoria began to read before the letter flew out of her hands, Summoned by Daphne.

Still ignoring her grinning sister, she read the letter quickly but carefully. When she was done, she put it down on her lap and hummed in thought.

"So, what is it?"

"Potter invited me to accompany him to a gathering of friends," she replied. "A small thing, he says. Casual clothing. No more than thirty people. He wants to introduce me to some of his associates."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Will you be alright?"

"I was walking fine today. By tomorrow I should be able to leave."

Astoria nodded. For a few seconds no one spoke, Daphne still looking down at the letter in thought. "Does this count as your fifth date, then?"

She shook her head. "Potter has made clear when the fifth date will be. This is up to me, whether to attend or not."

"Uh-huh," Astoria said. "You know," she continued after a short pause "that gathering will just be a bunch of Potter's flunkies all in one place."

"No doubt."

"Who will probably be torn between distrusting you and sucking up to you for being his current bed-warmer."

Daphne pursed her lips. "Crudely put, but accurate."

Astoria nodded again. "Perhaps it would be better for you to sit this one out."

"Perhaps."

Astoria said nothing for a few second and neither did she, before her sister's lips stretched into a wide grin.

"So," Astoria started, "what are you going to wear?"

Daphne smiled back at her. "I shall need some clothes from home."

"Leave it to me."

 **~D~**

She was released from the hospital the next day. Astoria was there with her, their parents busy back in England. After she got dressed, she used the Floo to go directly to the address Potter had directed her towards in his letter.

She came out of the Floo in a cozy, small living room, empty but for Potter himself, waiting for her. He smiled as soon as she walked out of the fireplace, his whole face brightening with the wide grin.

He looked good. Clean-shaven, wearing a dark pair of pants and a white shirt. Daphne almost scoffed as she saw the top button undone. Classy.

He approached her, and she him. She offered him her hand, and he took it, giving it a quick kiss but not breaking eye contact.

"Welcome," he said, "to Grimmauld Place."

"I am not late, am I?" she asked, for the sake of appearance. Potter winked at her.

"No more than is fashionable. Then again, you knew that. You look utterly beautiful. How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly healthy, thank you for your concern."

"Great, everyone is inside waiting for us. They can be a bit raucous, so don't be overwhelmed."

The notion of being overwhelmed by Potter's flunkies was outright funny in its absurdity. "I shall endeavour not to."

Potter was still holding her hand, staring at her with an intensity that was beginning to unsettle her a little.

"Is there something on my face?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, uh, sorry. I just-... I'm just not sure if, after all that's happened, we're still on kissing terms. Are we?"

She arched an eyebrow, taken aback by his forwardness, but not showing it in any way.

"Why do you ask?" she question, buying some seconds to calm her thoughts.

"Because I really, really want to kiss you right now. May I?"

She could not help the slight widening of her eyes, but she recovered quickly. After waiting a few seconds, partly to set her thoughts in order and partly because she really liked the anxious look on his face, she nodded.

Potter did not grab her, make any jerky moves or ram his tongue down her throat. Instead, his hand went to her shoulders, then to her neck, sliding upwards until he held her cheeks and sending pleasant tingles down Daphne's spine all the while. Finally, he reached his lips to hers, giving her a slow, tender kiss quite unlike any they had shared until now. She went along with it, not finding the experience uncomfortable.

He let her go after a few seconds, pulling back and letting go of her head. He was still smiling but it was a softer, more subdued thing. He looked like a weight had left his shoulders.

"I'm really glad you came today," he said, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, and together they stepped through the doors which opened of their own accord.

Immediately, loud cheering washed over her. The spacious common area they entered was full of people, all of the clapping, cheering, some of them even whistling. She recognized most, some from her Hogwarts years, some from her jaunts at social events or the Ministry. Right off the bat, she realized just how many high ranking ministry employees Potter had in his immediate acquaintance.

The crowd had parted, letting her go to the middle of the room and by the time they'd reached the open space, the cheers slowly died down and the clapping stopped.

"Thank you, everyone," Potter called out, not having to raise his voice particularly much to be heard by all, "for coming here tonight. And thank you for giving Daphne here the appreciation she deserves, as without her I probably wouldn't be standing here right now." This was followed by another round of loud cheering, which Potter patiently waited out with a wide smile. "Enjoy the drinks, have fun, and please be mindful, as Daphne was released from the hospital just today. We're all here for a good time, yeah?"

At the crowd's nods or words of assent Potter summoned a pair of glasses from a nearby floating tray, passing one off to her before raising his glass.

"To Daphne Greengrass," he toasted, which the crowd dutifully echoed before drinking.

As soon as the hubbub had died down and the people were returning to their previous conversation, Daphne turned to Potter.

"You failed to mention that the party was being held in my honor," she all but hissed at him.

"Did I?" he asked, still smiling that damnable smirk of his. "My mistake."

"What would you have done if I had decided not to show up?"

"Looked really, _really_ dumb in front of a lot of people, probably."

She snorted in amusement at that. Dumb, indeed.

The next hour or two passed in this sort of easy transition from one conversation to the other. Holding onto Potter's arm the whole while, he introduced her to many of his colleagues or acquaintances. Many she knew, but not all. Knowing as she did that all these people held Potter's trust, it was good insights into just how far his reach extended.

It did feel like a school reunion, in a way, as a good chunk of the crowd was comprised of their old classmates, though she recognized several that had been a few years above or below them at Hogwarts. But some, like the Assistant Editor of the Daily Prophet, were neither schoolmates nor ministry coworkers.

"You may recall Oliver Wood?" Harry asked her when he introduced to the tall, burly brunet. She did, vaguely, remember him from Hogwarts, but she had more memories of him from recent news. "He's the assistant manager of Puddlemere United."

"How do you do?" Wood asked her, offering her his hand for a handshake and a pleasant smile that really betrayed nothing at all. She smiled back.

"Good, thank you. I admire your work on the team."

"Thanks."

"And this here," Potter said, waving to the older man with a similar build but hair that was whitening at the temples, next to Wood, "Is Shelly Crawford, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"Good to see you again, Miss Greengrass," Crawford said as he shook her hand.

"You as well, sir."

"I was surprised to hear that you and Harry here were, uh, acquainted," the man said. "A good boy, he is. Lucky you are, I say, yes, yes. And uh…" he turned to Harry, pursing his lips momentarily, as if unsure of what to say.

"Speak freely, Shelly. We're all friends here."

"I just wanted to say, uh … thank you, Harry. That healer you sent us, he did wonders for Molly's hand."

Potter laughed. "It's no problem. Just tell Helen to keep some of that roast for me next time I come over, yeah?"

Crawford laughed too, a short, loud thing. "That I can do, my boy. We'd be glad to have you."

Next, she was introduced to Dayne Short, an ironically tall man with a severe look, who she knew was very high up in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He and Potter had a hushed conversation, during which Dayne whispered something in Potter's ear and he laughed, clapping the older man on the back and thanking him. After that, Short gave them both a nod and walked off.

"Anne?" Potter said suddenly, looking to the right. Daphne followed his look to a rather small form. "Is that Anne skulking in the corner? Daphne, come with me for a second would you?"

They waded through the crowd until the stood next to the woman.

"As I live and breathe," Potter exclaimed, "Anne Dench. I thought you'd declined my invitation. Again. And where's your cloak and hood? I thought you loved perpetuating the stereotype."

Dench was a very short, very petite woman. Almost childlike, really. She had long, slick black hair, pronounced cheekbones, and a very dull pair of brown eyes. She was drinking with a straw from a cup which she held with both hands, pausing on her sucking to reply, giving Potter quite the disapproving look.

"I do not appreciate your humor."

Potter ignored her. "Great, thanks for joining us. Having fun?"

"It's not like I wanted to come or anything."

Potter ignored her antics, chuckling again. "Let me introduce you. Anne, this is Daphne Greengrass."

"I know."

"Daphne, this is Anne Dench, Head Unspeakable."

Daphne blinked. Surely … surely he was joking. _This?_ This was the Head of the Department of Mysteries? Renowned among those in the know as the one to salvage the Department after Voldemort's rampage through the ranks of the Unspeakables? The notoriously elusive leader that hadn't shown her face in public for years?

"A pleasure," she said, giving no indication as to her thoughts. Dench gave her a nod of recognition.

"Anne is an old friend," Potter supplied. "Don't go telling anyone this, but she likes to borrow Hermione for little projects here and there."

Dench threw Potter a truly murderous glare, surprisingly compounded by her small stature. "Potter," she hissed, "these are state secrets that you're-"

"Oh, lay off," he cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We're all friends here." He turned to her. "Right, Daphne?"

She smiled sweetly back at him. "Of course."

Dench was still glaring at Potter. "Go away," she said. "You're bothering me."

"Magic forbid," he replied with another chuckle. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

She grunted, and that was their cue to turn around and leave her in her corner.

They didn't get far, as they were intercepted by the Weasley couple. Potter let go of her hand to engulf his two friends in a wide hug, full of exclamations and laughter and other such unbecoming expressions of affection.

"Where have you two been?" he asked then once their hug was broken. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Just making a firecall from the kitchen. We missed your big entrance," Ron Weasley said with a wide grin.

"Guys, you know Daphne already, but let me introduce you again. Daphne, these are my good friends Ron and Hermione Weasley. You know them, of course."

"Of course," Daphne replied, keeping her polite smile in place with practised ease, making sure to curl her arms around Potter's left so they wouldn't think of trying to shake.

"Hello," Granger greeted her cordially, before turning to Potter. "Harry, can I have a word? It's for … Ministry work."

Potter made a face. "Must we? Tonight is supposed to be fun."

Granger frowned at him, and Potter swallowed hard. "Alright, alright, sheesh. I'm coming. Daphne, I'm leaving you in Ron's capable hands, okay? I'll be back in a second."

She was rather shocked at how quickly Granger had managed to make him relent, so she could only nod before he was whisked from her side.

She was left on her own, with Weasley's stupid face in front of her. He looked rather uncomfortable, his face gaining color.

"Um…"

"Do not feel the need to speak, Weasley," she said, barely holding back a sigh. "As a matter of fact, why do you not scurry along? I think I saw Thomas over there, talking to Longbottom. You are friends, right? Go on, I will be fine on my own."

Weasley looked like he really, really wanted to follow her advice.

"Err, Harry said-"

"Oh, come on Ron," a voice interrupted him. Daphne turned her head and saw Bones walking up to them, dressed in a shirt and jeans combo. "She's a big girl, and the worst that can happen is that she gets lost on the way to the loo."

"Well, um, still-"

"I'll stay with her. You can go."

Weasley looked incredibly relieved, trying and failing not to show it.

"Right. I will just … I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

And he was gone. Daphne snorted at his hasty retreat. Next to her, Bones chuckled.

"Ron is a good guy," she said. "He just doesn't know how to talk to you. Give him time."

Time might not be necessary, but she didn't feel the need to mention that to Bones.

They made idle chit-chat for a bit, exchanging pleasantries about their attire, or commenting on the drinks. Daphne kept expecting Bones to excuse herself and go, but she did not.

"Did you want to talk about something in particular?" she asked her eventually.

Bones gave her a sideways glance, hesitating for a second. "I did, actually."

She already knew that. "Well?"

"It's about Harry."

"What about him?"

"You two seem to get along very well."

"That sounded painful to say," Daphne said, barely containing a smirk. "Bitter, much?"

"No!" Bones quickly denied, but seemed to deflate after a second. "Well, maybe a little."

"Is this the part where you tell me I am not meant for him?"

She shook her head, red hair gently flowing with the motion. "No," she said. "Harry does as Harry wants, and he seems to want you … for now. I respect that."

"If not that, what seems to be the issue?"

"I … I wanted to thank you, actually."

Daphne's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You did?"

Bones nodded, looking determined. "Yes. You helped Harry in a tight spot. As someone who has done the same and has had the same done for her, I can appreciate how serious it was."

Daphne shook her head. "I did not do it for Potter."

Bones looked startled. "What?"

"If I had left Potter to his fate, and he had been overcome, I would not have gotten very far."

That didn't seem to shake her. "It doesn't matter," she replied. "You still did it, and I am grateful. A lot of people are. Harry is … important."

Such disgusting loyalty. "Certainly."

"Tell me," Bones began "when you were fighting alongside him … did you feel the excitement? The _rush_ of watching him do battle?"

Daphne's brow creased. She knew what Bones was talking about. She had felt a certain degree of awe on witnessing Potter in combat, his efficiency far outstripping anything she personally was capable of. She had no reason to admit as much to her, though.

"I do not know what you mean."

Bones snorted. "Suit yourself, it doesn't really matter. The thing is, you have entered a very particular group of people now. You have fought and bled alongside one of us. In the Battle and again now, you risked your life against impossible odds. In my book, that makes you a sister-in-arms."

What simplistic logic. "I have one sibling, and she is more than enough, thank you."

"Regardless of how you feel about it, you have my gratitude and respect. For that, I want to give you some advice, if you would have it."

"Go on."

"Harry is important," Bones repeated, adding more emphasis on the phrase this time. "He has done great things. _Will_ do great things. If you have any sense, and I know you do, you have seen it. You have felt it. He will be Director soon, and then-"

"Then?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow. Bones snorted.

"You think he'll stop there?"

"That is what he has told me."

She shook her head once. "Maybe he actually believes it, it doesn't matter. I know Harry, and trust me, he is _going_ places. Whether he wants to or not."

"That piece of advice better be coming soon, Bones."

The redhead frowned at her, the first hints of anger showing in her expression.

"My advice, _Greengrass_ , is this. Get onboard, or you'll be left behind."

The words shook her despite herself, and it took her a few seconds to organize her thoughts.

"I'm going for another drink," Bones muttered and walked away before she could reply, not sparing her another look. Daphne pursed her lips, inwardly seething at … something. Something about this whole conversation felt _off_.

She sat on a couch and observed the party going on around her, mulling over Bones' words, occasionally giving a smile and a word to someone walking up to her to say hello. It was in that position that Granger and Potter found her, when they returned.

"Sorry to leave you alone," Potter said, rubbing the back of his head. He frowned then, and looked around. "Where's Ron?"

"I do not know where Weasley went."

"Hermione, can you-"

"You go look for Ron," she cut him off gently. "I'll stay here with Daphne."

Daphne would have sighed if it wouldn't have been undignified. Magic help her, but apparently it was time for round two.

Potter was looking between them with an uncertain look.

"Um, are you sure that-"

"Go, Harry," Granger said, more firmly this time.

"Err, okay. I'll be by the drinks, Daphne."

She waved him off, and he left. Granger took a seat next to her, slowly and gingerly. For a few seconds, neither spoke.

"That was impressive," she admitted. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Granger smile.

"Harry trusts me to know best in some situations."

Daphne furrowed her brow. "... trust," she said, drawing out the word a bit. "I see." She wasn't sure if she did. She trusted people, herself, but not to the degree that she would accept commands of this nature. Not even from her family.

"You'll learn how to handle him, I've no doubt."

"Maybe."

"Plus, it helps if they know that you're pregnant. No one wants to cross me right now."

That, Daphne did not know. Granger wasn't showing yet, so it must have been recent. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Tell me what it is you want to tell me, Granger."

The brunette turned to give her a look. "It's Weasley, now."

"Same difference."

"I suppose."

"Well?"

"I assume you've heard it a lot tonight, but thank you for helping Harry fight. He's quite reckless; he needs good people by his side."

She hadn't heard it put quite that way, yet. "You're welcome," she said, unwilling to repeat what she'd said to Bones. "Is this where you tell me what you think about him being with me?"

Granger furrowed her brow. "Would you like me to?"

Daphne refrained from rolling her eyes. "Would it stop you if I said no?"

"Of course."

"Oh," Daphne said without thought, before inwardly chastising herself. Being caught off-guard here was inexcusable.

Granger didn't feel the need to fill the silence, simply sitting next to her and observing the people, humming a tune under her breath.

Daphne sat there for a minute, unsure what to think or say. The conversation she'd had with Potter was fresh in her memory, and she was well aware that offending Granger right now, in this place, was a terrible idea.

The best option would, perhaps, be to follow Granger's example and ignore the other woman, in turn.

"I know how different we are," she said, surprising even herself with the fact that she spoke. She frowned. Hadn't she just decided to not say anything?

Granger turned to her, abandoning her tune. "You are," she agreed.

Daphne felt a strong surge of irritation wash through her, though the other woman was only confirming her own statement.

"Is that a problem?" she replied, perhaps with more venom than she'd intended.

Granger shrugged, turning her gaze away from her, towards a tall redhead on the far side of the room, before smiling. "Only if you let it."

Daphne repressed the urge to snort. If Granger thought their situations were similar, she was hilariously mistaken. She didn't voice that thought.

"While that is an interesting perspective," she started, "I fail to see the relevance. Potter and I will be through soon enough."

"Your last date is coming up, huh?"

Daphne gave her a sharp look. "He told you?"

Granger nodded. "He came clean with us when he came back from Switzerland. I hope that's okay with you."

"It matters not to me what Potter says to you."

"Fair enough. So … is that what you want? For you two to be over?"

Why was she asking a question with such an obvious answer? What else could she possibly expect to hear? "Yes, it is."

Granger looked like she had something to say, but she bit her lower lip and refrained, turning her gaze forward again.

"You are important to him," Granger broke the silence after a while. "For many reasons. As such, I would like for us to get along. To be … friends." She said the word as if it were some foreign concept, but her jaw was squared in a look of determination.

Friends with Granger? She'd sooner tattoo _Mudblood_ across her back. Daphne could have snorted, if not outright laughed, but she was keenly aware of where she was, and amongst who. She refrained.

"Certainly," she said. Granger instantly looked relieved.

"That's great."

"Is that what these people are to you?" Daphne asked, making a wide gesture with her hand, encompassing the whole room and the people milling around in it. "To Potter?"

"In a way."

"There is something I do not quite understand," Daphne admitted. "Explain to me, as a friend?"

Granger looked slightly uncomfortable now, which brought a smile to her face. "If I can," the brunette replied.

"Half of these people seem to owe Potter favors. The others are either in his employ, or are old classmates, or are otherwise indebted to him in some way or another," Daphne said, making a pause to wet her lips. "How do you … classify them? Friends, flunkies, or allies?"

Granger was silent for a second, before she let out a chuckle, then another. And another.

"Did I say something funny?" Daphne asked, beginning to feel annoyed with getting laughed at.

"I'm sorry," Granger said, making an effort to contain herself. "Really, I'm sorry, it's just that … Well, that's the good thing about Harry Potter."

At her blank look of confusion, Granger went on. "Don't you see, Daphne? Isn't it great that, when it comes to him, it's so difficult to tell the difference?"

Daphne said nothing, turning her gaze instead to stare at Potter where he was talking to a group of people a few couches over, thoughts going a mile a minute.

 **~D~**

Daphne awoke suddenly, with a start. She went from unconsciousness to awareness in a second, propping herself in her elbows and looking around in alarm.

It took another second for her eyes to adjust and when they did, she took in her surroundings. A second later, she relaxed, allowing herself a yawn. She groped with her right hand for her wand, firing a barrage of freshening charms at her face and mouth. After that, she put her wand back on the nightstand and lowered herself back on Potter's chest. Light was coming in through the balcony, but it didn't seem to be long after dawn.

They'd left the party sometime in the night, going for another drink in a more private setting. Naturally, they had ended up back at Potter's apartment.

Though he was asleep, Potter's hand unconsciously curled around her waist again, pulling him closer to her. Daphne smiled into his chest, letting herself relax.

She must have fallen asleep again, as when she opened her eyes again, the light was brighter and at a different angle. Potter was still asleep under her, his head turned to his right side, away from her. She stayed there for a minute, as strangely fascinated by the rise and fall of his chest as she'd been the first time.

Eventually, she gingerly pulled first his arm off of her, then the sheets, before getting up, naked as the day she was born. At a guess, she picked one of the two doors that she didn't know where they led. It seemed she guessed wrong, as the door led only to a wardrobe room.

The other one was, indeed, the bathroom. Spacious and sparkly clean, eliciting a nod of approval from her. Both a shower and a large tub were present and while she'd love to have a long soak, it was too early in the day for that kind of indulgence.

After a thorough shower, she wrapped a towel around her torso, dried and softened her hair with a pair of charms, and headed back into the bedroom.

Potter was awake, propped up against the headboard, reading a newspaper with a mug of tea floating next to him. He raised his head to look at her when she walked in.

"Hey," he said.

"Good morning."

"Not going to run off today, are you?"

Daphne considered the merits of this. "In a bit. Where is my tea?"

"Assuming I made you some, eh?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow at him as she made her way back to her side of the bed. With a chuckled, Potter floated another mug, taken from a disk on his nightstand, towards her. She accepted it and took a sip.

"I want no milk in my tea, Potter."

"Noted."

She noticed another newspaper, lying unopened next to Potter. The subscription must have brought them while she was having a shower. She picked up the newspaper. It was that day's Daily Prophet. She looked up at Potter, who was still engrossed in his paper.

"What are you reading?"

"The _Quibbler_."

"You are holding it upside down."

"I know."

Daphne considered whether pursuing the line of questioning was worth it. After a second, she decided that no, it wasn't. She leaned back against the headboard, adjusted her towel, and opened the _Prophet_.

Front page was, as expected, news about New Year's celebrations throughout the country. The Ministry Ball was mentioned as the grandest event of the year, along with others set up at various locations.

The second page was more interesting.

"Potter, have you read this?"

"Not yet. Anything interesting?"

"Apparently, Director Baker is sick? A variation of dragon pox?"

He looked up from his paper and gave her a nod. "I know of his illness. It's been eating away at his left hand for years."

"Apparently, it has gotten a lot worse in the last few months. Or so a Mungo's Healer says. Did you know this?"

"No," Potter replied. "That's terrible. I hope he gets better soon."

Daphne didn't buy the nonchalant way he said it.

"Is it fatal?" he asked. Daphne returned her eyes to the article.

"Apparently not. But it _is_ quite crippling."

"Terrible stuff."

Daphne furrowed her brow. "I saw you talk to the Assistant Editor last night," she said after a minute of silence. "What was his name?"

"Gerald."

"And what did you talk about?"

He shrugged, not raising his eyes from the _Quibbler_. "Can't remember."

Such a bold-faced lie. Daphne decided not to press him on it, but did note it in her mind.

She perused the rest of the paper, quickly growing bored with it. After finishing her tea, she set the paper down and got up, taking off her towel and beginning to dress.

"You're going?" she heard Potter ask.

"Tonight is the big night, is it not?" she replied. "I need to get ready."

"It's early. You have time."

Now fully dressed, sans shoes, she turned back to look at him. He had a hopeful look on his face. Daphne smiled.

"Hm … I wonder if I should."

"Please?"

As if merely asking nicely would sway her. "What do I stand to gain?"

He furrowed his brow. "What would you like?" His tone was cautious, more rhetorical than indulging.

"How about this? I shall stay for as long as you keep me entertained." Upon seeing the grin begin to form on his face, she was fast to correct him. "Not like that, you pig."

"Oh. What, then?"

She sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Tell me something about you. Something nobody knows."

He raised an eyebrow. "Nobody?"

"Not even your two bootlickers."

"I don't know who you mean by that."

Daphne clicked her tongue in irritation. "The Weasley couple." She realized that this could refer to several people, as the blood traitors' brood was quite large. "Well, the two Weasleys you're closest to."

"I see. Something about me, is it?"

She nodded. He stayed silent for a couple of seconds.

"I have just the _biggest_ fear of mosquitoes."

She looked at him incredulously for a second.

"Seriously," he said. "They carry diseases, come when you sleep and suck your-"

Daphne scoffed and made to stand. Instantly, she felt a pressure of her wrist, where Potter had grabbed her.

"Let go. I am leaving."

"Wait," he said, and he sounded resigned. Daphne didn't try to get up again, only glaring at him with pursed lips. If he dared try to waste her time again, she would leave. If he tried to stop her, she would hex him.

Potter turned away from her, staring ahead, before turning his gaze outside through the balcony. He was silent for a long time, and Daphne let him. Despite what she told him, she had time. Especially if she was about to hear something interesting.

"Some days ..." he began eventually. "Some days I get up in the morning and I wish I wasn't working at the Ministry. That I hadn't decided to go there in the first place. Wish that I didn't have to."

Ridiculous. Potter was Britain's poster child. "No one is forcing you to do anything, Potter." No one _could_.

He chuckled, but there was no humor to it. His smile was a bitter thing. Daphne stared in fascination.

"No, I suppose they aren't. Maybe I brought it upon myself, but I never really had a choice, did I? Not really."

She said nothing, as she didn't quite follow.

"There are days," he kept speaking, "that I wish I'd taken more than single year to travel the world. That I wish I'd _never_ stopped. Other times, I miss my teaching days."

"As an Auror instructor?"

"That, and even earlier. Did you know, we had a little club in fifth year that I used to teach in?"

Interesting choice of words for his Ministry resistance group. "I heard."

"Teaching is an amazing feeling. I wish I'd recognized that earlier."

That was just silly. Give up a promising and advancing Ministry career just to teach? She didn't get it. Still … it had nothing to do with her. "It is never too late for a change of profession."

He shook his head. "No … that is just a silly thought. There are too many things that need to be done. Too many things I did that cannot be undone. I just …" he paused, as if lost for words. He turned to her, locking eyes as she looked at him expectantly.

"Some days, I just have these thoughts about what could have been, you know?"

"I see," she replied. There wasn't much else she could say, as these were Potter's inner thoughts, and not much she could say to him would affect anything. "And you have not discussed this with those two?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "There's no need to worry them with my stupid thoughts, is there?"

"Is it not a bit early for your mid-life crisis, Potter?"

He chuckled, this time genuinely. "You said it."

"Focus on what it is you are aiming for," she cautioned. He looked at her again, surprised. She kept going. "What you are doing is not easy, nor will it be accomplished with half-hearted efforts. It is unfair to you and those working with you for you to be regretting your choices this far in."

He let out a sigh. "I suppose you're right."

"And remember, half the teachers at Hogwarts are people that retired from other professions."

He smiled again. "That's an encouraging thought."

She got up, and this time he didn't stop her.

"I shall take my leave. When do we meet up?"

"What, don't I get a turn at your inner thoughts?"

Daphne smiled at him. "No."

He chuckled. "Figures. Seven works, so just Apparate here and we'll head out."

"You have keyed me into your apartment?"

He nodded. "You're free to come and go."

"I will use the Floo, like a civilized person."

"Suit yourself."

With one last look at Potter over her shoulder, she left the bedroom and a few seconds later, the apartment.

 **~D~**

Her home was empty when she arrived, her parents gone on business and her sister either locked up in her room or outside doing magic knew what. That was fine with her. She'd rather avoid another awkward silence with her parents or Astoria's weedling.

The first time she'd come back from Potter's place, tail between her legs, hair in disarray, she'd burst in on a full breakfast table. She'd turned completely red and rushed to her room, ignoring everything and everyone. When she'd come down for lunch, her parents had pointedly not said anything, but she could feel their thoughts and speculations. Her sister had no such reservations and, as soon as their parents had gone, had began drilling her on details.

All sorts of details.

Daphne still didn't know which of the two was worse.

All in all, having no-one to witness her return was a small blessing. She took some time to pick out her clothing for the evening and, once that was done, she set about some work. There was a lot of mail to reply to, with several days' worth of letters that hadn't been redirected to Switzerland. Many owls flew away from her room that day, even the enchanted stuffed-toy owl had done its adorable duty.

To her surprise, her father had redirected several of his business partners to her, citing his own busy state and delegating his duties to her. That wasn't uncommon, but she had thought that with her recent hospitalization he would have refrained.

She came down for lunch quite a bit late, and all three members of her family were there, in various states of eating. Astoria had just finished and was getting up when she walked in. Her parents, not done yet, looked up and greeted her.

"Hey Daphne," Astoria greeted her as Daphne walked over to her customary seat next to her. "Had fun last night?"

Astoria's lewd grin made some color rise to Daphne's cheeks, but she had expected something like this. "Begone, pest," she ordered as she sat down.

Her sister chuckled and gave her a wink; a _wink_ , of all the undignified things.

"Mom, dad, I'm going. Lots to do."

"Have fun, dear."

"Behave yourself, Astoria."

Her sister waved over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving her alone with her parents. That was a mixed blessing. Astoria would have perhaps drilled her a bit regarding Potter, but it was perhaps better than this ironically loud silence, in which everyone knew what the other was thinking but didn't want to be the first to say something.

After a few minutes of awkward eating, her mother broke the silence.

"All ready for tonight, honey?"

Daphne looked up at her and nodded. "I have selected my attire, and looked up the appropriate charms for my hair. Do you want me to help you with yours, Mother?"

Karina shook her head. "That won't be necessary, dear. Your father and I won't be coming to the Ball tonight."

Daphne's eyes widened, her eyebrows rising to her hairline. That was … unprecedented. The New Year's Ball was the Ministry's biggest social event of the year. Everyone who was _someone_ would be in attendance. It was a great opportunity for making business and cultivating connections. Her father, in particular, had never missed the Ball since his sixteenth birthday.

"I do not understand."

"We have been invited to a similar gathering in Athens," her Father said, "by master Trismegistus himself, no less. Such an opportunity to integrate with the United Greek States is unprecedented and can not be missed. This could be our chance to extend our trading company to some of the materially richest areas of the world."

Which was true, of course, but it would not matter if they let the situation at home slip. Many would look for the Greengrass family in the Ball, and when they learned that they were not to be found, some would be insulted. Expanding was useful, but they needed to keep their core clientele happy.

"Father," she began, "representation in the Ministry Ball is paramount."

A ghost of a smile passed by her father's lips. "True enough, daughter. And represented we shall be."

Daphne blinked. "You do not mean… surely…"

"You have grown, Daphne," her father said with a tone of finality, and pride. Despite herself, Daphne felt something swell in her chest and had to fight back a smile, "you and your sister both. It is time you stepped up to your role as I know you are capable of doing."

This was a huge opportunity her father presented her with.

"I will not fail you, Father."

Fabio smiled again. It was a twitch of his lips, but Daphne caught it. "See that you do not. You are capable, but still inexperienced. Caution is needed, but boldness is also necessary."

"I will do my best."

Her mother spoke then, having no reservation about showing her a wide smile. "Then all will be well."

They parted not long after that, the house elves taking care of the table as her parents went to do their own preparations. Daphne killed some time by familiarising herself with several financial reports that might prove useful for the evening, until it was time to get ready.

Her dress was a dark purple work of art, which was what she had paid for. It would gleam slightly, but not when stared at directly. It would draw attention of people who had her in the periphery of their vision, but not needlessly tire their eyes when focused on. Getting into it required a bit of maneuvering and some magic, but she managed without issue. Her hair took quite a bit longer to get right, but she was rather adept at managing it, so she was satisfied with the elegant result without any redos.

"You look lovelier than usual, mistress," her mirror complimented her as she was doing a final examination in front of it. She paid it no mind beyond a vague sense of annoyance at the thing's habit of stating the obvious.

She used the Floo to appear in Potter's living room. Looking around the surprisingly tasteful area, she couldn't spot Potter himself anywhere. He must have heard her arrive though, for he called out to her from another room, telling to wait for a minute.

She passed that waiting period by taking in everything around her. She'd passed through on her way out before, but never had she taken the time to properly look around. Beyond the comfortable, classy feel of the decor -the result of hired work, most likely- there were precious few of Potter's personal touches. The most numerous were, of course, framed photos. Many of Potter's friends and extended family, though curiously Potter himself was rarely in them.

She stared for a while at a frayed photo of James and Lily Potter hung over the fireplace, pictured younger than she herself was. Such a happy couple, arms wrapped around each other and grinning widely. There must have been some recognition in the echo of their spirits encapsulated in the frame, for their expressions changed when she stood in front of them. From the wide grins, they became simpler, smaller smiles, but still their faces betrayed an excitement and pride that she could not understand.

She did not reciprocate their polite waves in any way. Conversing or communicating with a portrait was pointless and even if it wasn't, she didn't trust herself not to burn the frame or tear it to pieces or both, and that wouldn't go well with their still very much alive son.

In the end she moved on, putting the frame and its inhabitants out of her mind. There were some artefacts laid around, a couple interesting ones set up in glass cases on small stands, others stuck to the wall. Curious they were, weird in shape and useful for things she couldn't guess at. Probably loot from Potter's time touring the world, as she could recognize the flair of different cultures on some of them.

Left alone in a corner, such that Daphne's eyes nearly passed it over, lay a broomstick, carelessly propped against the wall. From its dusty appearance she nearly thought it was a simple broom, meant for cleaning, but a closer inspection revealed it to be Potter's old Firebolt, the same one he'd evaded the Hungarian Horntail with. While no longer considered the best broom in the world, the Firebolt still maintained its place amongst the best, a testament to the ingenuity of its original creators.

And Potter just left his own to collect dust in his living room.

"Sorry I kept you," she heard his voice behind her and turned. Potter looked … good, she had to admit. He wore a long, black robe with dark red lining. He'd exchanged his usual pair of glasses with a smaller, square set that made him look a lot smarter and classier than she knew he was. Moreover, he had done … _something_ to his hair, to make it look, if still untamed, then at least stylishly so.

He must have noticed her perusal of his attire. "How do I look?" he asked, perhaps with a touch of insecurity?

"Your sleeve is creased," she told him, voice dripping with disapproval, making sure to give her face just the slightest hint of disgust.

He spent a whole thirty seconds looking around his sleeves, searching for the ever elusive crease. When he gave up and turned back to look at her with suspicious eyes, Daphne made sure she only had a blank stare for him.

He still must have seen through her.

"I get it," he said with a sigh. "This is your idea of humour."

Daphne allowed herself to smile. "I am hilarious, Potter."

"Not on purpose, though."

"This is the part where you tell me how good I look."

"Is it?"

"Quite."

He gave an obvious once-over for a couple of seconds, eyes lingering on the elaborate strings of her dress.

"You look absolutely stunning," he said, with the same tone he used whenever he complimented her. No stranger to compliments, Daphne still felt a thrill whenever she heard him say such words. Being aware of her beauty didn't diminish the joy she got when others noticed it.

"So I do," she said. "Are we sufficiently late?"

"About an hour."

She nodded in approval. "Shall we go?"

"Let's."

Potter offered her his arm, which she wrapped hers around, and together they walked through the green-lit fireplace and into the Floo network.

Of course, they were not deposited on the Atrium, as was usual. Rather, special accommodations had been made, as always at this time of year, and they arrived at the Floo Hall, a spacious room full of fireplaces, connected to the Ministry's event hall through a set of double doors. Two employees stood by the doors, checking invitations. They instantly straightened when they saw her and Potter emerge from the green flames.

"Head Auror, sir," they greeted him as he arrived.

"Hello fellas," Potter said with a dip of his head as the two of them reached the doors. "Let me fetch my invitation."

"No need, sir," said one of the attendants. "Just dip your finger here, if you would." He proffered a simple bowl of clear liquid.

"Of course."

Potter did as bid, dipping his index inside the water all the way to the second knuckle. Daphne knew that any concealing magic would have been undone by the exotic, magical water. But really, to have an entire bowl of such precious liquid in the care of these two dunderheads? Clearly the organiser for the night was out of his mind.

"Please go in, sir."

"Thank you boys."

The attendants dutifully opened the doors, letting them through into a blazing sea of flashing lights and a sudden cacophony of noises. Daphne's footing was sure as she walked next to Potter, not letting the sudden change affect her, but she did grip his arm a little tighter.

There was a walkway formed in front of the door, with a carpet lain on it and people on the left and right side. As soon as the two of them walked, the crowd exploded into a cacophony of incoherent cheering.

Daphne was used to flashy entrances and cheering, but not to this extend, and never had she been at the receiving end of something like this. For sure, she always turned heads when she was announced, but this was different. This wasn't for her.

She turned her head away from the flashes of the cameras, to look discreetly at Potter as they slowly walked into the room. He had a smile on his face and was using his free hand to wave at the crowd, but Daphne could spot the slight set of his jaw. The tension in his posture.

"I have the suspicion that the party was waiting for you, Potter."

He turned to look at her. "Surely not."

"Potter, we were one hour late and everyone was waiting for you for the party to begin."

"Nonsense."

She scoffed. He hadn't even tried to make it sound convincing.

Someone was saying something from the podium in the middle of the hall as they approached, so she returned her attention to them. The Minister was on the stage, speaking in front of a floating microphone, no doubt charmed with a _Sonorous_. Another person stood next to him, a short woman that was the head of the department of Magical Disasters. Her first name escaped Daphne at the moment, but she was a Stein, she remembered.

"Yes, yes, welcome, Mister Potter," Shacklebolt said. "Our guest of honor for tonight!"

A massive cheer went up from the crowd at that. The Minister smiled as she and Potter reached the front line of the guests.

"Of course, a big welcome to Miss Greengrass as well. We are all pleased to see you recovered and as radiant as always after your unfortunate encounter in Switzerland."

 _Unfortunate_ , he called it. Daphne could have snorted.

As if on cue, the Minister's expression darkened.

"For those of you who do not know, our very own Head Auror was attacked by an outnumbering force during a leisure picnic."

Murmurs of surprise and affront went through the crowd. Liars, hypocrites and sycophants, the lot of them. If there was one person that wasn't already aware, Daphne would eat every single thread of her dress.

"... their safe return," the Minister was saying when she turned her attention back to him. "So forgive the suddenness of the decision, but tonight's party is dedicated to our very own Head Auror, for his handling of the situation, but also for his leadership of the international Auror squad targeting a specific cadre of organized crime in Europe!"

Another cheer from the crowd. Next to her, Potter was bashfully accepting the praise. Daphne could not tell how much of his humble and embarrassed expression was an act and how much of it was natural. Curious.

"Now, I'd much rather attend to the proceedings much closer to the drinks, so I will leave the rest of the evening to our event master, Madam Stein." The Minister motioned to her, standing next to him, to the polite tittering of the crowd. "From me, and from the Ministry of Magic, happy New Year to all."

With a final round of applause, the Minister stepped down from the podium, replaced by Stein. Daphne was intrigued. From what she knew, Stein wasn't Potter's greatest fan. If she were running the party, how was he planning to effect his plan?

"Thank you, Minister," the woman began, sounding exasperated. Turning to the rest of the crowd, she addressed them. "As the Minister said, and now with Mister Potter's arrival, we can officially commence the celebration. Welcome, one and all, to the Ministry of Magic's annual new year party!" She paused to let the applause die down. "Have a good time, talk, dance and drink; if our esteemed Minister leaves anything for the rest of us, that is."

On cue, chuckles were heard from the crowd. At that time, the music started playing, and the crowd dispersed from before the podium, breaking up into smaller groups of socializing people. Occasionally, this or the other person would climb up to the podium and say a word or two, mostly wishes.

She and Potter did not lack for company. Though too composed to outright mob him, it was obvious that everyone wanted to talk to him. Potter fielded them with mastery that spoke of years of experience, giving as much of his attention to however many people he could, promising that he would get back at those he couldn't in due time.

For the first hour, Daphne stayed glued to his side, fully aware that it was still early, that every eye was still on them and that the cameras were still flashing. As the evening went on, however, things died down a little, and Daphne felt safe enough to disentangle herself.

"I cannot be by your side all evening, Potter," she told him. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I have my own business to conduct. Your understand, I am certain. I believe we have sold our part well."

"It's fine. Don't be gone too long though, or I might get lonely."

Daphne scoffed. "With all the people salivating for your attention? Unlikely."

Potter gave her a winning smile. "None can replace you."

She slapped him on the arm. "It does not count as flattery if it is true, Potter."

"I know."

She pushed him away lightly, always within the limits of propriety, with a snort to mask her laughter. "Go away, you buffoon. I shall find you in due time."

"As the lady commands."

With a dip of his head, Potter slunk off to join a group of his lackies, in which the Minister himself was also present.

Daphne looked around, seeing several people she wanted to talk to. First order of business, though, was Kendra, one of her family's chief financial advisors. She'd need her by her side during most of the talks she planned to have.

She found her quickly. Kendra was a woman on the twilight of her golden years, and smartly did not try to ignore that fact, instead choosing a more conservative dress and hairstyle that nevertheless paid homage to the woman's fading beauty.

"Miss Daphne," she was greeted as she approached the brunette.

"Madam Chaiv. Good evening."

"To you as well. I hear your father won't be joining us tonight."

"He is otherwise engaged."

"You attend in his stead, I take it?"

"I do."

"There are several things I wanted to discuss with him at this venue."

"I am here for such."

"Then, you are aware of the situation with the gorgon eye supplier?"

She nodded. That business had been going for a few months. She'd re-read the file earlier that day, in preparation for this. Kendra smiled.

"Good. Then let us find that moron Kevin and give him a talking-to, shall we?"

"Nothing would give me more pleasure."

For the next while, Daphne drifted from person to person, discussing business, or exchanging news that had to do with such. Kendra was by her side for a good part, but she wasn't involved in everything.

Well over an hour after she'd parted with Potter, she was moving among a small group of socialites when she halted, blinking in surprise at the radiant blond couple in front of her.

"Astoria," she greeted her sister. "I had not expected to see you here."

Her sister gave her a smile, arm-locked with Malfoy who, at the very least, had a rather capable tailor.

"Yet here I am. Did you think Father had sent only you?"

She had, actually, and it did sting her pride a little, but she squashed the feeling. With Astoria here, everything would go much smoother.

"Good evening to you too," deadpanned Malfoy. Daphne turned her head to look at him, not stopping her face from forming a slight grimace.

"Malfoy. I feared I would see you here."

The blond scoffed. "Of course I was invited."

"Of course," she repeated. "I suggest you go spread your particular brand of fungus somewhere out of my sight."

Malfoy scoffed, going a little red in the face and opening his mouth to say something. A sudden grip from Astoria stopped him, and Daphne saw her lean in with a sweet smile and whisper in his ear. Malfoy still looked incensed, but mollified, and left without so much as another glance at her.

"Well done, little sister," Daphne commended with an approving nod, looking at Malfoy's retreating back.

"I try."

"We have a lot of ground to cover."

"I'll leave Schruman to you. I still don't quite understand the terms Father agreed to."

"Then you go deal with the Italians."

"Must I?" Astoria asked with a grimace. "They insist on drinking such a horrid cocktail."

"Yes," Daphne replied, glaring at her sister, who let out a sigh.

"How many more after those?"

"Not a lot. With you helping, we should have talked to most everyone before the change."

"You think Malfoy will try to kiss me?" Astoria said, looking amused.

"He has not attempted to, already?"

"He did when when we were alone after the first conversation with Father. Acted like it was expected, or something. Like he owned me already. I kneed him in the groin. Hasn't so much as looked at my tits since."

"He always was a cowardly little ferret."

Astoria raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like something Potter would say. Speaking of Potter, I don't think he'll be afraid to kiss you tonight."

Daphne's lips curled into a smile. "No, I do not think he will be."

Astoria let out another dramatic sigh. "This is _so_ unfair."

"Cease bemoaning your fate and get to work. And remember, Father said to ease them off-"

"I know, sister," Astoria cut her off with a scoff. "Get off my case. I read the file."

"Get to it."

"Geez, you are absolutely no fun at all. I wonder how Potter puts up with you."

"You shall learn when you are older."

With one final snort, Astoria left, heading back into the throng of people. Taking a sip of her drink and a deep breath, Daphne followed suit.

It kept going like that for a while. She put on an excellent performance, as always, all radiant smiles and keen conversation, keeping people both fascinated and interested.

All the while, she kept an ear open and her eyes wandering, taking in who was talking to who, and what those close to her were saying.

She saw Potter, still discussing with the Minister, a couple of department heads and some foreigners that she did not know.

She also saw Director Baker. He was standing close to her and her small group of business associates, having a conversation with four others, including Malfoy himself. Their conversation appeared to be about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament and the Ministry's preparations, so Daphne put them out of her immediate concern.

That is, until one particular line.

"So, Director," Malfoy said, making a decent attempt at an honest expression. Daphne had to admit, he could get mildly charismatic when he wasn't being a total ass, "a friend of mine at Mungo's told me about your arm. Terribly sorry to hear that. How have those Phoenix extracts been working?"

Baker obviously looked taken aback at the sudden switch to his illness. "Err, well, the treatment is working well enough to contain it to my hand, but it doesn't come cheap, so … well, I'm being handled by the best."

Malfoy nodded, face all fake concern. "I see. That's good to hear. Terribly thing, Dragon Pox. My grandfather himself was lost to it."

Baker looked quite uncomfortable. "That is sad to hear, of course."

"Of course, of course. Still, I'm sure the treatment will keep you safe. Hearing about your retirement was saddening, but it looks like you have selected the best possible candidate for your successor."

Baker's eyes went wide, as did his mouth. For a second, he was too surprised to speak.

"Sorry?"

Malfoy let out a laugh. "I know, I know, that's rich coming from me, right? The Head Auror and I haven't always had the best relations, but I appreciate his efforts to make our country safer. You made a great choice, no doubt about it."

Daphne could have snorted. Malfoy completely missed the source of Baker's uncertainty. That, or he chose to ignore it.

The immediate area around them all seemed to take in a breath at once. Daphne was obviously not the only one listening in.

This turn of events was … interesting. She hadn't seen that coming. Using Malfoy, of all people … how masterful.

She turned her head to find Potter, looking at him just when he was laughing heartily at something someone said. He looked … so carefree. So earnest. Like he didn't know what was going on around him right now, in this hall. Like it was all coincidence, or fated to happen, rather than meticulously engineered.

The more Daphne thought about it, the more convenient everything seemed. The worsening of Baker's condition, right after Potter got enough international accolades to make him viable for the position.

Could Potter have been the one behind Baker's condition? It sounded like him, to remove an obstacle without the use of lethal force.

At that moment, Potter laughed again, his face lighting up as he fought to catch his breath and talk at the same time.

Daphne's thoughts paused. Surely … surely this was just convenient coincidence. Potter wouldn't do that.

… would he?

With a start, Daphne realized that she didn't know. Couldn't be sure. Too much was pointing in either direction.

How … exhilarating.

 **~D~**

Before long, she found herself approaching a small group of familiar people, forming a loose circle and engaged in quiet conversation. She recognized all of them. Malfoy's hair would have given him away even if he had used a mask, and her sister's presence next to him even more was Tracy Davis and her father, John, along with Munich Mulciber and Marcy Crabbe, who had taken the reins of her remaining family after her brother's passing during the Battle, in which the departed Crabbe senior had fought for the losing side.

"Miss Greengrass," Mulciber welcomed her, having noticed her approach. She was a shrewd woman, all thin smiles and veiled words. Daphne stood to learn a lot from her. "Nice of you to join us."

"Greetings."

"I trust you are well?" Crabbe asked her. Daphne nodded.

"We heard you were injured," Tracy asked her, making her turn her eyes to the woman. They'd been amicable during their Hogwarts years, but had grown apart since, meeting only on occasions such as this. The stench of magical corrective creams was heavy about her.

"I am well. Soon, I shall be fully healed." But never the same.

"We were just talking to Draco here," Mulciber told her, "regarding his most curious conversation with Director Baker. You're just the person we'd like to talk to, if I'm honest."

Daphne adopted a slightly surprised air. "I am?"

She received a nod from the older woman. "Indeed. It appears that rumors of your … closeness to Mister Potter, of late, were not unfounded. Perhaps you have some insights for us. Are the rumours true? Is he going to be our next Director?"

This was dangerous ground. She'd expected this, but she'd still have to tread carefully. Out of the corner of her, she saw Astoria purse her lips.

"It would appear so," Daphne said, safe in at least that much. The faces around her grew somber, all of them digesting this information and its implications. There was silence for a few seconds.

"I do wonder," Crabbe said then, "how far your insights go. You've been closer to mister Potter than most in recent times. Can you tell us … what kind of man is he?"

"I would have thought that your niece, Madam Mulciber, who works as one of his very own Aurors, would be better served to answer that question. After all, she has been working with or for him for the last several years."

Munich waved a dismissive hand. "Mister Potter is an exemplary Auror and an inspiring Head Auror. He is charming and friendly with his coworkers. Him being good at his work is not the answers we seek, miss Greengrass. What we would like to know is, what kind of person is he, in his own time? How does he think? What drives him forward?"

A heavy question. Bold of the woman to ask her, bolder still would she be to give any sort of definite answer. She looked around again as she thought on her answer, taking in the expectant eyes of these people from families with little direct contact with Potter himself. The response she gave could shape the political landscape to some degree for the foreseeable future. At the very least, it would create an impression that would be hard to shake off.

 _Get onboard, or get left behind_ , Bones had said. Sensible advice, however grudgingly given. She'd seen enough of Potter until now to know that he did a lot more to his enemies that simply leaving them behind.

"Potter is … a visionary," she settled on, after some moments of thought. "Moreover," she continued after a brief pause, "he has the ability, mettle and temperament to bring about its realization."

Silence followed her words once again, as each person took in her words, cross-referenced with how trustworthy they found her and their own observations of Potter's actions, and considered what that would mean for each of them.

It was Tracy's father who voiced everyone's thoughts.

"And where do _we_ factor in in this … vision, of his?"

"He is not an unreasonable man," she replied. "Potter understands his faults more than most, and is open to advice and suggestions from people he recognizes are more knowledgeable than him in certain matters. He is firm, but not unbendable. We could do, and certainly have _done_ , a lot worse."

"Strong words," Crabbe said, eyes slightly wider than normal. "Is this your personal opinion on the matter, or the stance of the Greengrass family as a whole?"

She was asking if Daphne was just a love-sick fool, and whether her father would confirm her words, if asked about it later. Daphne would have sneered at the old hag, instead she just smiled at her. A side-glance at her sister showed no disapproval from Astoria.

"At this juncture, they are one and the same," she replied, which was true. The fact that she and Potter would part ways soon need not be spread. She would do him the courtesy of giving him a period during which she'd not be seen with other men, to let the media slowly die down and not give them something explosive to gossip about. He could spin whatever tale he wanted. If he preferred, perhaps they could have a fight in public; Daphne knew she'd enjoy that.

But, all in good time.

"Men like Potter…" she began again, voice steady and firm, "they do not let the world change them. It is _he_ that will change _it_." She paused again, partly for dramatic effect, partly to wet her lips. "Potter … is magical Britain's future. It is better to help forge that future at his side than be trampled underfoot."

Daphne found no trace of deception in her worlds. She truly believed that what she said was true; she just wasn't sure if what she had said was something she felt good about.

 _Get onboard, or get left behind._

Damn Bones. And damn Potter, for being who he was.

"I enjoyed talking to you all," Daphne said with a pleasant smile directed at everyone. "But I think I require another drink. Astoria, Draco, would you accompany me?"

"Certainly, Sister," Astoria replied. She and Malfoy said their goodbyes to the group and fell in behind her, leaving the other purebloods behind them to mull over her words and warnings.

"Nice show, Greengrass," Malfoy told her once they were relatively isolated and with a drink in hand. She looked at him, to see a dissatisfied expression on his face, poorly hidden behind a fake smile. "Potter must be _really_ giving it to you, to inspire such loyalty."

"Crass as ever, Malfoy," she replied icily. "I would have thought that close proximity to someone like Astoria would have granted you at least _some_ measure of class or finesse," she gave her sister a disapproving look. "But apparently not."

"Not for lack of trying," her sister mumbled, making Malfoy's face heat up. He opened his mouth to no doubt exclaim something, but Daphne cut him off.

"Besides, " she said, "do not presume to play innocent in regards to membership on the Potter club of supporters. I heard that conversation you had with Baker. Half the hall did, in fact. I never would have figured you to be working for him."

"I'm not," Malfoy was quick to correct. He still looked uncomfortable. "Potter and I have … talked. We have an understanding. I would hate to, what was it you said? _Be trampled underfoot_."

"Then judge me not if you share my views of the situation."

That seemed like a sour thing for Malfoy to swallow, but at least he did not object or contradict her. He'd had some sense beaten into him since their Hogwarts years, apparently. For all she knew, Potter might have done the beating, himself. That was a nice scenario to imagine.

She left the two to their own devices, confident that Astoria could see to their family's matter's while keeping Malfoy and his ego entertained. They'd cover more ground separately. She continued mingling, talking with acquaintances and clients and rivals, all with the same polite smile and confident air about her.

"Hey."

She turned with a start, seeing Potter next to her. She frowned; clearly she'd overindulged if she hadn't noticed him walk up to her.

"Hey, yourself."

"Mind if I join you?"

Daphne shook her head. "I have done most of what needed done."

"Good, because there's not too much time left."

Daphne nodded, linking her free arm to his and bringing her drink up for another sip.

"Had a productive evening?"

He nodded. "Unlike most Ministry events, the New Year party tends to actually be fun."

"That is not what I asked."

"I don't know what you mean."

Daphne snorted. "Of course."

They drifted towards a side of the hall, where people were more sparse, eventually taking a seat. There they stayed for a while, exchanging gossip and impressions of people present in the hall that they both knew. Potter's accounts were mostly humorous in nature, but there was actual information layered into them.

After a lull in the discussion, she noticed Potter give her a long look, a weird smile on his face.

"What?" she asked, feeling slightly uncertain.

"Nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "It's just, I'm glad you came today. I'm glad I got to know you, at least to the amount that I have."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "We have gotten quite intimate with each other."

He laughed. "I suppose we have, but not just that. You're someone I couldn't understand. Still can't, not really. But spending this time with you has been really helpful."

"Helpful?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

Potter nodded. "Remember when you asked me why I did this?"

"I do."

"Another aspect of my answer is this. Getting to know you, trying to understand you."

"Why?"

"You represent something, at least to my eyes. You are the ... how to put this … the opposite end of the spectrum, at least until wands need to be drawn. And I knew that. And it got me thinking, what if I really can't get along with you?"

Daphne frowned. "You are not making much sense, Potter."

"I guess I'm not, am I? Look at it this way. For better or for worse, my actions have an impact. And I plan to use that. It might sound arrogant to say, but I want to make our world a better place. For everyone. And that includes you, and others like you. How then, can I trust myself to do right by you, if I can't manage five civil evenings with you?"

Daphne listened, and processed, and followed his reasoning. Was he joking? No, he didn't seem like he was joking. Maybe he was just intoxicated. She said nothing for a while, and Potter seemed to have said his piece.

"I have been wondering, regarding that," Daphne admitted at some point. Potter raised an eyebrow at her.

Potter nodded, expression losing its previous mirth. "What about it?"

"I remember the reason you gave, regarding why you dragged me into this mess."

He nodded. "Is something the matter?"

"I do not know," she asked, giving him a stare. "Is it?"

"You doubt my truthfulness?"

She shook her head. "No, I do not believe you lied to me."

"But?"

"I am uncertain that you were giving a, shall we say, full account."

"What makes you say that?"

She gave him a look. "I am not dumb, Potter, nor do I have a weak memory. I remember you repeating my father's words to me. Was that just you stroking your ego, or was there some deeper meaning to it? If the answer you gave is not the whole truth, what else is there to it?"

He moved, settling differently in his seat.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"The way I see it, you have given me three different explanations for your actions."

He frowned. "I know that my plan, as I said in Vern, was one. I guess this just now is the second. What's the third?"

"You feeling trapped by your current life and wanting to try something new."

Potter's eyes widened, and he chuckled. "You took that seriously?"

Daphne was not amused. "I did."

That sobered him up real quick. "Oh."

"I do not think that was entirely false, either."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I wanted to ask, because I do not get it. Mid-life crisis, scheme, or familiarity? Which one is the real reason?"

Potter pursed his lips, not speaking for a few seconds. Eventually, he let out a sigh.

"Does it have to be one or the other?"

Daphne blinked. "Come again?"

"Why does it have to be just one? Can't it be all three, or more? Honestly, I couldn't really tell you if any one of them drove me more than the other. I'm not that meticulous in my thoughts. I just … do things."

Daphne said nothing, processing his response, and deciding to accept it, at least the first part of it. Multiple reasons were not an unacceptable answer, though it did not make figuring him out any easier.

Movement at the podium drew her attention. "What is this?" she wondered aloud. Potter followed her gaze.

Short had walked up to Stein and was whispering in her ear. As we went on, Stein blanched. A few seconds later, Stein left as quickly as she could without being improper, vanishing inside the fireplace room.

Short took her place, looking at the crowd with the same dour look.

"Madam Stein had to depart at all haste due to her presence being required at Saint Mungo's. Apologies for the inconvenience. I will replace her for the duration of the party."

Daphne turned to look at Potter, instead. "What happened to Stein?"

"How should I know?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I know you do."

"Well, I don't. And all this suspicion is really disheartening, you know."

Daphne gave up on getting him to admitting it, at least for now. Curiosity was burning away at her. Stein was called away to the hospital; that meant someone she knew was admitted or some condition of her own had development. Would Potter arrange something of that nature?

The same unanswerable question again. How far would he go? Was she just overthinking things?

She turned her attention back to Short.

"-... this opportunity, half an hour before the change, to say a few words. Please welcome, Madam Weasley!"

Granger walked up to the podium, radiating as much as a woman as mediocre could make herself to, smiling widely.

"Thank you, secretary. Forgive me these few moments, for I wanted to say a few words about the man of honor for tonight. My very good friend and colleague, Harry Potter."

She paused to let the polite applause die down.

"I have known Harry most of my life. Never does life get boring around him, never does he stop trying to give me heart attacks by getting himself into mortal risk. Was it any wonder, then, that he joined the Auror Office and excelled in it?"

Most of the crowd, comprising of ministry workers, laughed at the inside joke.

"Truthfully, I have put my life in his hands on several occasions; as have we all. He always comes through, time and time again. There is no one more trustworthy, no one more capable. I know that under his leadership, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will thrive like never before!"

The applause was thunderous this time, and Granger was forced to stop or risk not being heard, even through the Sonorous charm.

"I would ask that you excuse me this impromptu speech. The news have taken all of us by surprise, none moreso than Harry's very close friends. All of us are proud, all of us happy and relieved. However, I'm quite sure you'd rather hear from the man himself than me."

Again the crowd surged up in assent, beginning a chant of ' _Speech, speech!_ ', no doubt incited by Potter's flunkies, scattered among them.

Potter himself looked relatively bashful, and made quite the show of being unwilling to get up to the stage, before several sets of hands pushed him forward among laughter. His hand slipped from hers as he was pushed away.

He appeared on the dais, a wide, shining smile on his face and just the right amount of color on his cheeks.

He stood in front of the charmed microphone, continuing to smile while the crowd clapped widely. He opened his mouth several times to say something, but instead closed it again and chuckled when the applause still hadn't died down.

It was just the right show of embarrassed pride. Daphne was impressed; he was proving to be quite the actor.

"Thank you, everyone," Potter began finally, "but it's hard to give this speech you speak of without you settling down."

The crowd did so with some final chuckles at his jape.

Potter looked around again. "Wow," he said with a chuckle. "I hadn't planned to say anything today, so this is, uh, quite uncomfortable to be honest." His wide smile bellied his words, and the crowd took his words in the jesting manner they were meant for.

"Honestly, while I am proud of my accomplishments, I feel like too much of the praise is heaped upon me. Most of the actual work is done by the good men and women of the Auror office, as well other departments of our hard-working ministry."

The crowd exploded again, the cheers championed by the Aurors in attendance and backed by other ministry workers.

"As such, I accept all this honor in place of our entire Office, and thank you all for appreciating our efforts. Much of the responsibility, of course, belongs to Director Baker, who has taught me much in my time in the Ministry. Without him, we would not have achieved half of the results we have today. A toast, I say, not to me, but to Director Baker, and the good Aurors who tirelessly work so we are all safe in our homes."

Everyone raised their glasses as one, and Daphne took a look at the Director. He was going red in the face, the involuntary reaction to the attention and the praise making him want to preen, but the encroaching feeling of dread fighting against that. No doubt, he must have began to feel the vice closing around him. Surely, he was smart enough to understand that this was a game with the rules were stacked against him.

"As for me being the successor of the department, I'm flattered by the faith you all put in me, but I caution you against hasty judgement. I, too, have read the papers and been hearing the news lately, but I have not heard any word on it from the Director himself, nor has any paperwork reached my desk. As a man who has been on the receiving end of inaccurate rumors several times, I refuse to believe anything until I hear it from the source. As such, mister Baker, if you could step up and shed some truth?"

Oh.

That conniving, manipulative, magnificent _son of a bitch_.

Baker looked like he was about to faint, with every single eye in the room set on him, staring expectantly. Eventually, when he did not move, murmurs started.

Baker was sweating, and he brought up a finger to loosen his tie. No doubt, he was feeling slightly nauseated, maybe even faint. Now, Daphne was certain that he was feeling the trap Potter had so masterfully lead him to.

He took shaky steps before managing to control himself, the weight of magical Britain's eyes and expectations heavy on his neck.

Potter gracefully stepped aside, welcoming Baker to the microphone's position with open arms and a wide smile.

 _Like a snake_ , Daphne thought.

Potter stood next to Baker as the older man turned to face the crowd, his face losing its bright color and paling rapidly now that he had reached the elevated position.

"Um, greetings, good guests of the Ministry's New Year celebration," he started, using that time to try and collect himself. "It is indeed a great night, and a great party. My congratulations to Madam Stein for arranging everything so beautifully."

Stony faces met him from the crowd, and Baker was not immune to the effects. One of his hands came up to wipe the sweat from his brow. A disgusting sight.

"Err, but I suppose that's not what you want to hear, is it?"

No one answered his question, and after a few moments he carried on.

"I suppose I should address these … rumors, then. The truth … the truth is …" Baker balked, swallowing his words, his ears no doubt still echoing with the applause in Potter's honor from earlier. If he shut down such a beloved man in front of such an important crowd, what would become of him? Daphne would bet half her gold that was exactly what he was thinking.

"As things stand … well, I suppose that if and when I do retire, Mister Potter would indeed present the most qualified-"

His words were drowned by the resurgence of the crowd's applause, mixed in with clapping and whistling. Daphne looked around amid her own polite clapping, seeing all of her pureblood acquaintances also following along. The power of a crowd was strong; no one wanted to be the one to stand out.

"... no plans for immediate retirement-" Baker was trying to say, but it was futile. He had said just enough, enough to sign his own metaphorical death warrant. Everyone had witnessed it. Ministry workers, aristocrats, foreign dignitaries, the Minister himself. Potter had dug the hole, taken Baker by the hand, led him to the edge, letting him decide between jumping and ruining his reputation.

True, to an outside observer, Potter's plan might seem simple enough, but she knew enough to guess at all the months of setup that must have gone into it. A perfectly executed plan never looked dramatic.

Baker was turning red again, seeing that his words weren't being heard. His hand had began to shake. Suddenly the Director let out a wince, pulling his arm closer to himself, missed by none.

Immediately Potter was there, pulling him slightly away from the microphone and leaning in to whisper to Baker, though still just barely within the range of the Sonorous.

"Are you alright, Mark? Is it your hand?" Potter asked, voice dripping with concern.

"I-, I'm fine, thank you. I can certainly-"

"You're not fine. You're shaking."

No doubt, he was shaking by the feeling of his career crushing and burning around him.

Potter put a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Look, why don't you go check with your Healer? We can wrap things up here, no problem. Honestly, you need to take better care of yourself."

 _Checkmate._

Two office workers came and helped a stuttering Baker down from the podium and out a nearby door. Baker's shoulders were sagged, his crestfallen expression speaking of befuddlement, as if he could not understand how everything had turned out like this.

Daphne knew, and it had been beautiful to watch.

Potter returned to the microphone, putting a polite smile on his face.

"Don't worry, everyone. Director Baker had to go because he had a bit too much of that Firewhiskey; it's nothing to worry about."

Was he really pretending to not have known that their hushed conversation could still be heard? Classy.

"That being said, _wow_ ," Potter continued, making a show of widening his eyes and putting on a surprised expression. "I am astounded by the faith you all seem to share with Mister Baker. All I can say in return is that, if and when the time does come and I am in charge of our Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I will do my utmost to prove true to your expectations."

Potter accepted the cheering with a smile and a wave to the crowd. This went on for several seconds. Daphne was beginning to feel a tingling in her ear from the noise created around her.

Eventually, Potter pulled out his wand. "Magical Britain, are you ready for a new year?"

A roar of assent went off, and Daphne really considered muting the sound around her.

A small stream of fire left the tip of Potter's wand, forming itself into the number thirty seven.

"I'm sorry to say that I won't stay up here for the countdown," Potter continued, his eyes roving the crowd with a pleasant smile as the floating, fiery timer trickled down. "I have somewhere I want to be when the year changes."

And then he shot her with such an intense and unexpected look that Daphne felt her cheeks burning with color.

As the timer reached ten and the crowd began shouting out the countdown, Potter jumped off the stage, all but running his way towards her, the people jerking instinctively out of his way.

Daphne would forever deny standing frozen, rooted to the spot and unable to exactly process what was going on as Potter reached her and threw his arms around her, outright pulling her off the floor and spinning them around as the very loud countdown reached zero.

Daphne thought she might have squeaked in surprise, but the undignified sound was muffled by Potter's mouth, suddenly glued to her own.

The world went silent and dark around her for a few seconds, her whole perception focused entirely on him and her, and how the two connected. Hypersensitive and frozen at the same time, she felt her arms move around his shoulders as she responded to the kiss with equal fervor. His touch was fire on body, and his lips tasted like _victory_.

She came back to her senses only after Potter had put her down and she opened her eyes with a start, not having realized that she'd closed them at some point. The deafening sound of the celebration around her just reached her suddenly working ears. Potter was looking down at her, expression intense, satisfied but at the same time hungry and dominant and more _alive_ than she'd ever seen him, to the point where Daphne was as aroused as she was intimidated.

The whole evening- nay, months and months of careful work- coalescing into this one, single moment of success.

"Happy New Year, Daphne," she heard his voice by her ear, and failed to repress a shudder.

 **~H~**

When Harry returned to his bedroom, he was greeted by quite the sight. Daphne was laying on his bed, alone, slightly tangled in the white sheets, morning sunlight illuminating her naked figure from the open balcony door. A scene to be immortalized, surely. As it happened, his hands were full, holding the breakfast tray, so he couldn't summon a camera.

Regardless, he did still have his Pensieve.

"Good morning, princess," he said as he closed the door behind him with his foot, using a tone louder than usual. Daphne stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open as she awakened.

She pulled herself further up, leaning against the headboard, accidentally causing the sheets to be pulled down, fully exposing herself. She seemed not to particularly mind as she rubbed at her right eye.

"...Potter?" she half-said, half-yawned as Harry walked closer, a smile still on his face.

"Hey."

"What is this?"

"Breakfast in bed?"

She finally seemed to notice the tray he was carrying, blinking several times to focus her eyesight. Her right hand, wand held in a loose grip, was casting freshening charms towards her face, seemingly out of habit.

"How thoughtful," she said as Harry set the tray down, the specialized tray fitting just over her lap without weighing her down.

"Enjoy. I've had some already."

"I suppose it would be rude to refuse," Daphne replied, but Harry wasn't fooled. He caught the slight growl of her stomach at the sight of food, and only chuckled. Daphne ate delicately, but with surprising swiftness. He leaned his back against the bedpost and crossed his arms, waiting as she ate.

Not long after, she seemed to have had enough, waving her wand at the small tea kettle, which began to pour its contents into a mug.

Daphne took a sip, before making a grimace. "I told you, Potter, no milk."

"Sorry, habit."

Then, her eyes finally landed on the contents of the tray, previously half-hidden by the kettle of tea on top of them. Daphne reached out and pulled the small stack of papers.

"What is this?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

"I think you'll recognize the papers. You left a copy of them in my office, after all."

Half a minute of perusal later, Harry saw the realization on her face.

"Those are…" she started, seeming to hesitate for a second before continuing, "those are the contract voiding requirement forms."

Harry nodded. "Yup. I've signed them."

She was speechless for all of a second. "If this is one of your tricks, Potter-"

"No tricks," Harry cut her off with a shake of his head. "It's the truth."

Daphne's face did this weird thing where her eyes went back and forth between the papers and him, her lips moving ever so slight but making no sound.

"You … you signed it? It is … it is done?" she asked, in seeming disbelief. Her hands pulled out different papers for her eyes to examine.

"Yes. We're all set."

Harry cocked his head to the side, not quite catching her murmured words. "What was that?"

"What do you mean, _all set_?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"I did promise you, didn't I? Go out with me five times, and you're free. Well, we have had some eventful times along the way, but the fifth date was last night. Your obligation to me is done. You're free to go."

She turned to look at him, eyes slightly wide. "You wish for me to leave?"

Harry shrugged. "You can stay for a while, I guess. I have some work to do, but-"

"No," she cut him, rather forcefully. She coughed once, as if to clear her throat, then seemed to take a deep breath.

"No," she repeated. "I will go."

She pushed the tray to the side and threw the sheet off of her, not caring that she was completely undressed. As she got up, a wave of her wand brought all her various items of clothing flying towards her, and she got dressed with quick, jerky moves. Harry watched her from his spot by the bedpost.

"Don't forget your copies of the papers," he said when was done dressing and was picking up her bag. Without a word, the signed papers flew up from the bed and wormed their way inside her charmed handpurse.

She made to leave but Harry spoke before she reached the door.

"Before you go, I wanted to ask-"

"I care not," she cut him, her hand pulling at the door knob. "I have nothing else to say to you."

Harry reached her before she went through the door, his hand closing around her wrist, stopping her from going further.

"Would you wait a second?" he asked again, irritation coloring his tone.

"Let _go_ of me!" Daphne all but tore her hand from his grasp, but made no move to leave, so Harry cautiously backed away a couple of steps, giving her some space. Had her lower lip been trembling? Surely he hadn't seen right. Or maybe she was just _that_ mad?

"What more do you want?" she asked, hands clenched into fists. Harry wondered if she did that unconsciously. "Have you not humiliated me enough?"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about. I just wanted to ask, since we're both here now, if you're free tonight. I know it's supposed to be a day for family, but I was hoping-"

"Excuse me?" she cut him off, voice bewildered. Harry stopped his sentence, halting that thought. "What are you talking about, Potter?"

"Well, our sixth date. Though I suppose, it technically counts as eighth?" I haven't exactly-"

"There will _be_ no sixth date!" she cut him off again turning towards him. Her expression was one of barely restrained anger. "You said so yourself. We are done."

"Did I?" Harry wondered, scratching his chin. "I recall saying your obligation to me was done, nothing more."

That seemed to catch her by surprise, if Harry could judge by the way her mouth opened slightly, something that she didn't seem to notice.

"What?" she asked, uncharacteristically eloquent. Harry could have snorted.

"I mean sure, you can just walk out now and never see me again, but I was hoping we could keep this thing going, at least until one of us grows sick of the other."

Upon hearing his words she seemed to finally understand him. She recovered from her shocked look, her jaw clenching, which drew her gaunt features even tighter. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him and didn't speak for several seconds.

"Do you really think-" she began. "Do you honestly have the nerve to ask that, after everything you have done-"

"Hey," Harry cut her off, brow furrowing. "I'll admit that I could have handled this whole situation a bit better, but you haven't exactly been a peach about it either, you know? Besides, it turned out for the better, didn't it? We had some good times."

"The contract is done," she pointed out, "and our agreement is finished. Why would I still go out with you?"

Harry shrugged. "Certainly you don't _have_ to. Nor do you need to. As I said, you're free to walk away, now or at any point in the future. You have no obligation, no duty influencing you to do anything. You're completely, utterly free."

Harry paused, taking another step back and resuming leaning against the bedpost. He returned his gaze to Daphne.

She shook her head once. "My father-"

Harry snorted, which made her stop her sentence barely two words in to throw him an annoyed glare. "You know I can match whoever your father throws at you. I'm sure you two have talked about it. I don't think _he_ will have too much to say if you decide to keep going out with me."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Daphne, judging by her expression, seemed to be doing some furious calculations in her head. Harry gave her a few seconds before he spoke again.

"The real question now is, what do you _want_ to do?"

That seemed to throw her. She blinked at him, her furious expression melting to one of uncertainty.

"I-... what do you-"

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, cutting off her mumbling. "To have the choice of what to do with yourself be entirely up to you? To be the only one with a say in what happens next?"

And Harry could see his words affect her. In the slight widening of her eyes, in the deep intake of air in her chest, in the unconscious relaxation of her tight grip on her wand.

He knew, then, that his words hit home. That Daphne, in this matter, was like him. She, too, wanted to create her own destiny. To forge her path in life with her own two hands, and a touch of magic.

She was staring at him with a sincerely troubled expression.

"Potter … I get what you are trying to do but … we are … _so_ different. With no agreement or contract to bring us together, do you really think this could work?Would it even be worth it?"

"We _are_ different," Harry agreed, making Daphne's gaze snap up to him, meeting his eyes with her own. Harry tilted his head to the side, a smile making its way to his face. "But then, isn't that what makes this so interesting?"

Daphne stared at him for a few seconds, as if searching for something.

"The choice is yours."

She said nothing, and he didn't either, and the silence stretched, the quandary heavy in the air. Harry didn't break the silence, and he fought hard to maintain his nonchalant appearance. He had been quite confident, but every moment the silence stretched, he grew more and more doubtful. He wouldn't be surprised if she snorted at his suggestion, turned without a word and left. There was still so much he didn't know about her. He couldn't exactly predict what she-

His mental ramble was interrupted by Daphne's voice, more frustrated than he had ever heard her.

"... _damn_ it, Potter."

Was that … resignation in her expression?

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

"You are insane," she said. "Utterly, completely insane."

He chuckled, feeling a thrilling rush go down his spine, his body reacting in the same way as it did after a steep broomstick dive, or a combat situation. "Perhaps," he admitted, not bothering to say that maybe that wasn't such a terrible thing. "So, what do you think?"

She let out a sigh, her previously tense shoulders relaxing, a free hand making its way up to rub at her closed eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded defeated. "I think you would have done great things in Slytherin, Harry."

Harry's lips pulled back to form a wide grin. "Funny story about that…"

 **~H~**

 **FIN**

 **~TMC~**


End file.
